Pour Your Love All Over Me
by bluster-squall
Summary: Eighteen months after the Blight, both King Alistair and Circle mage, Hero of Ferelden Isha Amell are struggling with being so close but unable to act on their feelings. Fortunately, the King has a plan. Mean while, an uprising is stirring in a faraway land, that could spell the end of their lives and the end of Ferelden as they know it.
1. Announcements

She threw the covers off in a fit of annoyance, unable to sleep and growing more and more frustrated with every attempt she made.

At the end of her bed, undisturbed and snoring softly, her mabari hound Argor slept on, unaware of her difficulties and happily oblivious. His paws twitched every few seconds and once in a while the hound released a dozy howl. Chasing something, probably deer, in his sleep no doubt.

Had she been of a heartless nature, she might have woken him, so he too could share in her misery of being sleepless. But she wasn't, and she didn't. Though she did rub his head between his ears as she padded quietly passed him, her feet silent on the carpeted floor.

The reason for her trouble sleeping was the weather outside.

The howling wind forced the rain to thrash against the windows of her chamber. Smashing the glass as if each droplet were an iron hammer trying to break through. The thin drapes that covered each window did very little to hide the lightning when it struck. The thunder was just a roar as it rolled over Denerim Royal Palace.

She hated the thunder and the lightning, she had since she was a child.

In the Circle, when thunderstorms had come, she had always sought the sanctuary of the Sisters in the Circle's Chantry. They would humour her, be a distraction and let her stay with them until the storm was over and then take her back to bed.

As she got older, it became harder to go to the Sisters and instead she had found her solace in books. Spell books, tomes about history, the library in the Circle had become her safe haven.

And like before, the vast library of Denerim's Royal Palace became Isha Amell's sanctuary now.

Dressed in a simple cotton gown for sleeping, the heavier woollen robe she had thrown on protected her from the worst of the cold that the vast corridors and rooms created even when the fires were lit and burning, doing all they could to combat the chill.

Tying the robe tight around her waist, Isha closed the heavy oak door to the library quietly, making sure the 'click' sound it made was barely detectable. She didn't want to wake anyone else in the palace, and also didn't fancy being disturbed by one of the guards.

In her position she couldn't be removed from the library by force or be told off for it, she was the Chancellor. An advisor to the King, she had every right to be in the palace library and go where she pleased in the palace.

She was still a mage though, and some of the guards didn't trust that in her.

A mage out of the Circle, even one who was the Hero of Fereldan and had the King's trust, to some was still just a mage not to be trusted. Still an Apostate.

This mistrust and sidelong looks annoyed Isha constantly. She had grown used to them from the Templars in the Circle, and from years of them had learned to, for the most part, ignore the looks. It wasn't a personal slight against her, just against what she was.

Like now, at times where her frustration grew to great she would see solace and quiet in the palace library.

Isha loved the library. Adored it.

Even in the day it was silent and felt private. From here she couldn't hear the thunder, not really. And she only occasionally saw a brief flash of white from the small, high windows that adorned the walls.

The books in here ranged from the History of Ferelden, to the Chant of Light, the beginnings of Thedas. Books listing all the Kings and Queens from the earliest days of Ferelden history.

There were books about people, books about the beasts that once roamed the countryside, and those that continued to do so. Books about the plants, their uses, what they could be turned into with the right ingredients and teaching.

Each one was knowledge, and Isha ate it up with every new tome she found in the vast room. She knew she would never be able to read every book, not even if she lived to be one thousand years old, but just being surrounded by them, and being able to ingest everything they had to offer made her happy.

Settling down in one of the large chairs near the fire she had kindled with her magic with one book entitled: "First Enchanters of the Circle" Isha felt her earlier annoyance disappearing. She would read until natural tiredness took her, or until she was discovered. Which ever happened first.

Time passed on slowly. If ever the fire flickered or seemed close to going out, she would relight it with a brief twitch of her fingers so she could continue to read and stay warm.

The words on each page were long and indepth, retelling the lives and acheivements of each First Enchanter from each Circle throughout Thedas. Details of where each man or woman was born, when they had first gone to the Circle, their primary spells and specialist techniques were.

After some time Isha realised she could no longer hear the thunger and the lightning had stopped itself. Even the rain and stopped and it seemed as though the wind had died down as well.

She didn't know what time she had left her room to come here, only that it had been late. How long she had been sitting and reading was just as much a mystery. It must have been well past midnight now and coming into the early hours of the morning.

Servants would be rising soon.

Coming to extinguish fires, and light those in the rooms belonging to herself, the King and others who lived in the palace.

Argor would be worried, wondering where she was, if he was even awake now.

With a small sigh, Isha closed the her book softly so as not to damage it or disturb the dust sitting within the pages she hadn't reached yet. She replaced it back on the shelf it had come from and straightened the books around it - more to busy her fingers than anything else. She was distracting herself, trying to lengthen the time between now and falling asleep.

Asleep she would dream, and the dreams would turn to nightmares from which she struggled to awaken.

She had lost count of the times she had woken up in cold sweats, crying out for someone, or screaming for something to release her. Argor always fussed over her, he was always there to nuzzle her face and comfort her. When she was calm he would slump down across her, so she could rub his head and ears.

She found the mabari's weight a comfort, reminding her she wasn't alone.

The distance from the library to her chamber wasn't long, up two flights of steps and along three corridors, normally she could make it in no time, but she dawdled this evening.

The thought of returning to her chamber and sleeping was daunting. She was tired, that was true, but couldn't she honestly take any more of these disturbed nights. The visions she saw in her head were always harrowing and felt real, as if she were awake in the Fade itself.

Though as soon as she awoke the images faded and Isha could never recall what it was she had been dreaming about. Only how it filled her with dread, and frightened her to her core. The only terror she could compare it to was that of facing the Archdemon. Of hearing its voice in her head for the first time, during those first few awful dreams shortly after her Joining.

When she would seek comfort from others, not just her mabari hound.

Those days were gone now. Far behind her and it did not do to dwell on them.

Upon reaching her room, she found it just as she left it with a few minor changes.

Argor had moved, no longer lying across the foot of her bed, he lay on what was usually the vacant side of her bed, his head on the chest of the person lying there. Both of them snoring soundly, oblivious to the world and to herself.

What _he_ was doing in her chamber she wasn't sure.

If he had needed to find her urgently he could have sent a messenger or a woken a servant to pull her from the covers. Somehow she doubted that was the reason he was lying there though. On the messy sheets, his hair a wild mess and his simple bed clothes - a white cotton shirt and loose britches - in just as much disarray.

The light was minimal, coming from the moon outside that shone now the clouds had parted.

Isha lit a few of the candles around her room, the closest being on her bedside table where she could better see the young man.

The young King.

The responsibilities he now had seemed to have barely had an effect on him. He was still handsome, his dark blonde hair a little longer. His beard, which had only been stubble when she first met him, was now a neat tuft of coarse golden hair.

Everything else about him was the same, the tanned skin, the straight nose and noble brow. Even those honey brown eyes, when they were open, were deep and could stare into her soul. Make her tremble and melt without trying.

Now, with nothing there, no fancy clothes or propriety she could pretend for a few seconds it was as things had been.

Trekking through Ferelden, uniting the different races in a noble cause. The two of them, the last known Grey Wardens in the Kingdom, relying on each other, learning from one another... falling in love with each other.

It felt like a lifetime ago, but somehow no length of time could dispose of her feelings. No matter how hard she tried to banish them, they remained.

They were there always. Beating in her heart reminding her of the man she loved, the man she wanted and could never have. Not now. Not now he was King and she was nothing but a low born mage.

Isha swallowed the grief she felt for herself and her feelings. Forced it down back into her belly, into the back of her mind where it belonged. A constant niggle, never to be admitted again.

She would forget. Either naturally or by teaching herself.

There was no other choice.

"Argor," she nudged the mabari speaking gently, "Argor, off. Come on."

The hound slowly opened his eyes. Upon seeing her, his tongue lolled out of his mouth and the tiny stump of a tail wagged - along with his whole back half.

Isha smiled.

No matter what, Argor always made her smile and was always pleased to see her. He was the best, most faithful companion and she knew how lost she would be without him.

"Off you get," Isha ushered him gently, "can't have you squashing the King."

With a half-hearted whined, Argor obeyed. He easily shuffled off Alistair and settled his head on his paws, returning to sleep almost instantly.

Isha turned her attention to Alistair. She could wake him gently or roughly, it really depended. She recalled what a terror he had been to wake for watches, so resorted to tweaking his hair and flicking his forehead with her fingers.

"Ow..." Alistair coughed himself awake, waving his hands to get rid of Isha's fingers and the annoying sensation she applied to his scalp. "That's punishable as treason you know. Striking your King."

"Didn't leave a mark. Can't prove it." Isha remarked moving away from the bed so Alistair could stand. "Besides you're in my chamber, on my bed. A strange man in my chamber and on my bed. You're lucky I didn't turn you into a ice sculpture."

"A 'strange man'." Alistair chuckled. He was sitting on the edge of her bed now, leaning over his knees. "Is that what I am now?"

"You could have been anyone." Shrugged Isha. She drew her robe tighter around her and moved across the room to the doors that led onto a small stone balcony outside. She opened one, letting the refreshing cool air fill her room and leaned on the door frame.

It was easier to speak to him without looking. Keep the distance. Make everything impersonal.

It hurt less.

"Are you alright?" Asked Alistair. She heard movement, the sound of feet over carpet.

"Fine." Isha replied. When he reached her, he leaned on the other door frame and looked down at her. "What are you doing here?"

"The thunder woke me." Explained Alistair. "I know you don't like it, I wanted to make sure you were alright. But you weren't here. I decided to wait and I suppose I fell asleep."

"That's sweet." Isha murmured with a small smile, "thank you. But I'm fine."

"Where were you?"

"Library. Only place I can go when there's a storm."

Alistair breathed in the air in deeply, "you could come to me."

For a moment Isha just stared at him, wondering if he realised what he had just said. Alistair looked back at her, his eyes open and kind, his expression the same. A touch of vulnerability there too. "No, I couldn't." She shook her head.

The hurt was just a flicker across his face, nothing really. Something he schooled perfectly and without hesitation. Something he's had to learn to do when dealing with situations in court and regular audiences with his subjects. Still, it was there long enough for Isha to see, and for her to start wishing the ground could have swallowed her up there and then.

"No, you're right." Alistair said, laughing a little, "how stupid of me. Sorry, don't know where that came from."

"It's alright." Replied Isha with a weak smile, "no harm done."

For some time they stood there. Silence between them the only sound filling it being that of Argor's whines and sleepy barks and their own breathing. Neither one wanting to begin talking for fear of being unable to stop. But neither wanting to leave or ask the other to leave.

Moments like this were too rare now. Just the two of them, standing - even being in a close vicinity without others around was a moment almost impossible to grasp now. Every time they would find themselves alone, a servant or guard would interrupt. Now they had each other and all the time until dawn to speak and neither of them would.

Isha crossed the threshold of the door, walking in bare feet on the cold stone of her balcony. The rain cool on her feet but welcoming. Leaning against the stone wall that surrounded the balcony she looked down.

Her room overlooked the gardens, and from here the scent of the herb and rose gardens were best. After a rain the scents were always at their strongest. She could smell lavender and rosemary, mint and thyme all entwined together. A wonderful mix and something that for now seemed specifically for her.

"Did you read anything good?" Alistair asked, crossing towards her and leaning on the stone beside her.

"A book about the First Enchanters." Answered Isha breezily, "just something to pass the time until the storm stopped."

"Do you think about the Circle much?"

She shook her head, loose tendrils of black hair floating about her face. "Not really. I couldn't go back. Not now. Not after everything..." She sighed softly, drawing her fingers back through her hair and pulling it over one shoulder. "It was as much a prison as the palace is now."

"You feel the palace is a prison?" Alistair asked, his tone surprised. His eyes were wide, and his mouth open a little, as if aghast to know this. "Why? Are the guards unkind to you? Or-or-"

"You know why." Sighed Isha, facing him with a sad smile. "It's difficult to be near someone and be unable to do... anything. To have to bottle up your feelings."

The same small, wistful smile spread to Alistair's lips, "I know." He shifted towards her so their arms touched. When Isha didn't move or flinch, Alistair reached around with one arm, his hand laying at her waist comfortably. "It was nice, you know."

"What was?" Asked Isha. Unbidden she tucked her head beneath Alistair's chin. Safe, protected, familiar. His scent, his body, his arms. The strength of his arms which held her up when she could feel her knees about to give way.

"Sleeping there on your bed. Surrounded by your things, the smell of you." She could hear the smile in his voice, "it reminded me of the past. When things were so much less complicated, and we could be... us."

"But that's the thing," Isha explained leaning back in his arms to look at him squarely, "it is the past. A dream. We have to accept that that was what it was, a dream."

"I miss you." Admitted Alistair, the words rolling off his tongue before he could stop them. He looked surprised at himself at the admission but didn't say anything afterwards. No attempts to take it back or apologise. Just looked down at her with those eyes.

"I'm right here." Isha replied, though she knew what he meant. She wanted to avoid getting any deeper into the conversation.

"No," Alistair insisted, "I _miss_ you. I miss having you with me. You body with mine... waking up with you."

"It's a dream." Isha returned, her tone becoming slighter harder. "Alistair, a dream. You and I... we both need to wake up from it."

"Why?"

"Because it's impossible." She replied firmly. "You're the King of Ferelden. I'm low born and more than that, I'm a mage."

"I don't care." Alistair shook his head stubbornly.

"You should." Retorted Isha, "stop being a child." She added, "the Chantry would care, your subjects, the Landsmeet. Everyone else would care. Your country would turn on you in an instant."

His brows were furrowed as he frowned at her.

"Not to mention you need someone who can produce an heir." Isha choked on a word and swallowed. She touched his face with her fingers, drawing them across his cheek and jaw. "I could never give you children."

"You don't know that." He all but whispered in return, his eyes closed as he felt only Isha's ministrations to his face. "It's difficult... not impossible."

"Be that as it may," Sighed Isha, "we cannot do this."

"Tell me you don't love me." Alistair challenged her suddenly. He stared at her hard, "look me in the eye and tell me. I'll leave you alone, never bring any of this up again and we'll go on as King and Chancellor. We'll never bring up the past. Just tell me that. Tell me you don't love me anymore as I still love you."

"I..." Isha returned his gaze weakly. She wanted to tell him. She urged every fibre of her being to tell him. To lie. But the words wouldn't come. They caught in her throat like a sickness that she had to swallow down. She couldn't do it, injure his heart the way hers was. But at the same time what good did it do either of them, to know they loved each other. They were still divided, kept apart by politics, but station and birth. "You know I can't do that." She answered eventually, her eyes turning downwards.

"Isha," Alistair spoke her name firmly and she lifted her head.

His lips were soft and warm against hers. Familiar, comforting and she couldn't not reciprocate, slipping her hands across his shoulders, into his hair to draw him closer. His arms tightened around her waist and he practically lifted her off the ground. Everything was there, hunger, desire, a longing thirst they had held on to for each other and only been able to quench at times like these. Stolen moments, rare and precious.

When she pulled away, it was only a little and she could still feel his breath landing against her mouth as he lay his temple against hers.

"This has to stop..." Isha murmured, flattening her hands against his shoulders. She spoke to the floor as she stared at it. "Alistair... it hurts too much."

"Being with you is the only time it stops." He replied.

He shifted towards her, urging for another kiss and it took all of Isha's will power to refuse, to shift her head away and make it impossible for their lips to meet.

She felt him drawing away, becoming distant as his hands and arms left her waist and she could no longer feel his breath on her lips.

The cold surrounded her and she drew her arms around her body to fend it off. She shook for reasons she could not fathom and had to breathe fast to stop the tears that threatened to fill her eyes from doing so.

"I'm sorry," Alistair drew a hand across her cheek, that small, sad smile on his mouth again.

"I wish things could be different for us." Isha said, her voice quaking on every syllable.

"Maybe they will." He kissed her forehead and left the room without another word.

Isha just about managed to close the balcony doors and cross to her bed before the strength in her body gave way and the sobs began. Gut wrenching sobs that ached to her core. She smothered the noise with a pillow, letting the fabric soak up her tears at the same time.

Argor lay his head in her lap and licked her fingers gently as she cried, a comforting weight and warmth that she curled up with when the crying exhausted her enough.

Morning would come soon, and with it the dawn which would wash away the night and all that had transpired. In a few hours it would be as if nothing had happened.

* * *

The Ferelden council was held several times during the course of a month. A gathering of the King, advisors and the Grand Cleric who would be present for the meetings. It was a chance for issues to be brought to the table, anything from crops to crime, disputes between freeholders and also the organisation of events throughout Ferelden, like tours the King would make yearly throughout the country to greet his subjects, festivals, Feastdays and Name Days for people of importance.

Isha was always required to attend, as the King's personal Chancellor and as the Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. She made a habit of always being early, arriving before anyone else so they couldn't stop their conversations and stare at her distrustfully as she had noticed them doing. She had learned to ignore it, apparently stopping the Blight meant very little when you were a mage.

Argor always accompanied her and sat beside her chair with a bone, a form of moral support.

The advisors were all be people nominated by different members of the Landsmeet. People from their own lands usually on their own councils, who reported to the King of details for each area and spoke the voice of their Bann, Arl or Teyrn. And the Grand Cleric gave the opinion of the Chantry, whether it was asked for or not.

The meetings were often long and involved a lot of discussion, talking over one another and arguments would often arise from disagreeing lands, but they were necessary and something that Calian had never taken entirely seriously. He had normally left it to Anora to deal with.

Alistair was the opposite. While he didn't always enjoy the council meetings, he always took them seriously and was fair in his responses and judgement. Eighteen months on from his coronation he was a different man in the meetings to how he had been at the first few he had attended.

He had grown more sure of himself, and better at making himself heard over the din of disagreement. He used his Templar training to stay focused and calm in difficult situations and his natural good nature and humour to dissipate tension.

He was a natural, though he still often found himself doubting his knowledge and leadership.

The different advisors from each location filed into the council room after breakfast. They each had their own seats to take, next to one another each land location beside its neighbour, so Ser Percival from Rainsfere would sit beside Ser Edward of River Dane and so on.

The council table was long, hard wood, the edges of it decorated with intricate carvings of dragons and dogs, trees and flowers along it. The King sat on one side with Isha beside him on the right, and the Grand Cleric to his left. The advisors from each land sat around on the opposite side and at the ends of the table.

The chamber these meetings took place in was one of the larger rooms in the palace. Hard stone floors and walls, decorated with intricately designed tapestries. Long windows which went almost from the floor to the ceiling allowed sunlight to stream through illuminating the room in different colours from the stained glass.

As far as rooms for official business went, it could have been much worse.

Alistair arrived last to the meeting as he usually did, and everyone who had congregated rose from their chairs to greet him, and sat down only once he was sitting in his larger, more decorative chair.

"Good morning," he greeted cheerfully. To Isha it seemed as if the night before hadn't happened. He didn't look tired or like he had struggled to sleep. Maybe it was just her who had difficulty. "What's on the agenda today?"

"Here," Isha slipped a piece of parchment across the table to him which listed the different issues everyone had come with.

Alistair glanced down the information in front of him, nodded to himself and lay it flat on the table. Looking across the different faces peering at him, he templed his fingers, leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Ser Darcy of West Hill," he found her, one of the few women on the council. Older, perhaps in her forties with dark brown hair which was slowly showing her age. She was slim, tall, not someone naturally built for combat but who was agile and quick and as good with a blade as anyone else. She stood up when she was addressed, "you have the floor."

And the council began.

The issues were similar to what they usually were. Difficulty with harvests and crops failing in certain locations, so food was being requested from neighbouring lands. Those lands didn't want to give their own crops because it would leave the people struggling for the winter, even after they had worked hard to get the crops to grow and harvest them in good time.

Talks about apostate mages appearing in White River caused some unrest in the council and the Grand Cleric was quick to declare she would request a number of Templars to be dispatched from Denerim in order to deal with the problem and the threat.

A group of Chasind had made themselves known in the Southern Bannorn, coming from the wilds and ransacking village after village, leaving death and devastation in their wake. Requests for assistance had been sent to nearby Banns and Arls who had ignored the pleas and send to aid. Leaving it up to Alistair to order the advisors of those in power to send aid to deal with the problem.

"It seems strange though that the Chasind are being so bold." He remarked, drawing his fingers across his beard, "they prefer to keep to the wilds and away from villages, and it's unusual for them to be attacking, especially if it is unprovoked."

"The few we've managed to capture on these attacks," explained Ser Mathias, "have given us no indication of why they are attacking. They have spoken little except to shout insults and profanities at us, and have all died in our prisons."

"Why?" Inquired Alistair, his face hardening a little.

"They refuse to eat. They would rather starve themselves to death than save themselves and tell us their reasons and also where their tribes are located." Said Ser Mathias, shaking his head slowly.

A murmur went around the table.

"Has anyone else experienced these attacks from Chasind tribes?" Alistair asked, looking at the different people around him slowly. There were no answers, no confirmations. "Chancellor Amell," he turned to Isha, "have we had any reports from villagers about these attacks?"

"No, Your Majesty." Isha replied curtly, "it seems the incidents are isolated to the Southern Bannorn. It would be my suggest-"

"No one needs to hear your council, mage." Uttered Grand Cleric Deanna harshly. "Leave those words to your betters."

"Grand Cleric," Alistair injected calmly with a tone of warning, "may I remind you Chancellor Amell is the Hero of Ferelden, and the Grey Warden Commander, she is no mere mage and not an apostate. You will treat her with the respect her station demands." His tone was harsh, but cool as he addressed not only the Grand Cleric but the others around the table.

Isha shrank in her seat, reaching down to stroke Argor for comfort.

Beneath the table Alistair grabbed her wandering hand as it searched for the mabari and squeezed gently. Isha felt her cheeks flush and hoped no one else in the room noticed.

"I... apologise, Your Majesty." Murmured the Grand Cleric, "and my apologies to you, Chancellor Amell..." her words seemed more forced when she spoke to Isha, but it was the best Isha would get so she accepted it gracefully.

"You were saying, Chancellor?" Ser Mathias looked at her warmly, his dark hazel eyes kind. He was one of the youngest advisors, barely over twenty but he was eager and Isha knew he had a good head on his shoulders.

"My suggestion was to send a small emissary group into the Wilds," explained Isha slowly, "led perhaps by someone the Chasind know or have dealt with before. Their unrest may be more deeply seated than we realise. After all, villagers have been wandering further afield to find their own lands for farming and building. The Chasind are probably being forced into smaller and smaller areas of the wilds forcing tribes to fight for space."

"Meaning their attacks on villages is their way of trying to get their own lands back." Alistair prompted.

Isha nodded, "exactly."

"It's certainly a theory." Ser Mathias agreed. "We've not dealt with the Chasind before in the Southern Bannorn, not really. But I will go back to Bann Ceorlic and advise him of what you have said."

"That seems to be the last item on the agenda." Alistair said slowly, looking down the list of topics they had dealt with. During the meeting the sun had moved slowly across the room making it warm and a little stuffy. Judging by its height it was some time after noon. "Unless there is anything more to talk about; I would like to make an announcement."

"Your Majesty," the Grand Cleric spoke up when the others around the table stayed silent.

"Grand Cleric Deanna?" Alistair looked at her kindly, an middle-aged woman to whom the years had not been kind. She had a very severe face, an expression that always seemed to have her sneering. She was knowledgeable and respected, but had very little time for others which did not make her a popular woman except in the Chantry.

"I have received word from Grand Cleric Gwenda in Nevarra." She explained, looking over a long piece of parchment covered in ornate words in black ink. "She has asked that you come to Nevarra."

Alistair's brows furrowed, "does she say why?"

"No, Your Majesty. Only that she wishes you to come soon."

"That sounds..." Alistair murmured.

"Ominous." Isha said. Alistair looked at her. "Requesting your presence without giving a reason. Communications between Nevarra and Ferelden have been... tense at best. I would suggest finding out the reason to why she's asking you to come."

"I agree." Nodded Alistair.

"You doubt the intentions of a Grand Cleric?" Deanna asked, her voice strained. "I... understand the request is of an unusual tone, but what danger could there be from a Grand Cleric's request."

"Depends if it's the Grand Cleric, or the Grand Cleric under the guise of another." Alistair replied easily, "the Pentaghast family are struggling at the moment are they not? And as far as I am aware the Chantry in Nevarra have a strong military force."

"Yes... Your Majesty." Deanna confirmed with a slow nod of her head.

"There could be all manner of reasons to why she is requesting I visit. Her request may be totally valid and completely innocent, but I am erring on the side of caution given the state of things in Nevarra at the moment." Alistair remarked, "write back to her, explain I would be happy to visit if she explained the reason for the request."

Deanna slipped her hand over the parchment, "I will do this, Your Majesty. And I will let you know as soon as I receive a reply."

"Thank you, Grand Cleric Deanna." Alistair smiled. He stood up and stretched for a moment. "Now, if that is all the business concluded for the day, as I was saying before I have an announcement."

The men and women around him were silent as they waited for him to speak. The main business of the day was over, and this announcement Alistair intended to make made Isha nervous; it was unlike him to make surprise announcements in council without running the past her first. This was something he had decided on his own and that was a cause for concern.

As if he could sense it, Argor lay his head on her lap, and Isha immediately began to ran her hands across his head and over his ears.

"I know that many of you have been speaking to me with regards to the concerns your Banns and Arls have mentioned that I have yet to take a wife and produce an heir." Alistair began.

Something caught in Isha's throat and she swallowed hard, keeping her eyes down, focused on the carvings on the table.

"It's not that I have no desire to take a wife, I do; I have unfortunately been struggling with whom would be the best suited. Many of your peers have presented me with their daughters, all of noble birth and fine countenance who would make fine wives and perfect mothers, I am sure." He paused, running his hand across his beard.

Isha heard in his voice he seemed to be hesitating and all she wanted to do was give his hand a comforting touch as he had done to her. To spur him on. He was making a decision which was best for himself and for his people; her personal feelings could not come into it.

Still, her heart thundered against her rib cage, this would hurt when he finally said the name of the woman he intended to make Queen of Ferelden, but she wouldn't allow herself any show of emotion. She couldn't.

"I have thought for some time about my choices. My... decision. What is best for my people as King, after all it is they who are most important. And it is thinking of them that I have made my decision. What better way to urge Ferelden and its people into a new age after the Blight than by creating a union between the forces that ended it."

Murmurs started, words being said from one mouth to another as it dawned on some of them who Alistair meant.

Isha had drowned out all other noise except Alistair's voice, which she could barely hear over the blood rushing around in her ears.

"It is my choice to take the Hero of Ferelden, Isha Amell as my wife," Alistair turned his eyes towards her, warm, familiar... hopeful. "If she'll have me."

She could feel her mouth hanging open. The picture of elegance and refinement. She was glad she was sitting down. All the blood rushed from her head and pooled somewhere in her feet.

The murmurs erupted into shouts and the voice of the Grand Cleric was loudest of them all.

"You cannot marry a mage, Your Majesty! It is not done. She is nothing more than an apostate! She is not a candidate for marriage into the royal family!" Deanna shouted, her words harsh as she spat them.

"She's a Grey Warden too!" One of the advisors added. "She can't bear children! The Theirin bloodline will end with you!"

"She's not of Noble birth!" Another voice rose over the others.

More joined in.

"You have better choices!"

"Have her as your mistress, Your Majesty!"

"You cannot marry someone of low birth, let alone a mage!"

Alistair stood in his place taking all the words with a stern expression and his eyes narrowed. His arms crossed over his chest as he listened to the rising cacophony.

When Argor started barking, only adding to the noise it snapped Isha out of her stupor. Her throat had gone dry and she couldn't get her mind straight over the few thoughts bombarding her head.

Alistair wanted to marry her. He had announced it to his the council of advisors who would report back to the Banns and Arls they served. There would be uproar. All the effort they had made to end the Blight and ensure he was put on the throne would be wasted all because of this one thing.

Isha stood suddenly, the chair she sat on falling over as she rose so quick.

Silence fell over the room, all eyes turning to her as they expected her to say something.

Bile rose in her throat, a sick feeling churning her stomach as she tried to ignore it and swallowed it down. Her green eyes landed on Alistair, alarmed and terrified.

"Alistair-"

"Do not address the King so informally!" Shouted the Grand Cleric. "Remember your place!"

Isha trembled from head to foot. She could barely stand straight as she pushed away from the table shaking her head. "I'm sorry," her voice shook, "excuse me."

Hands covering her face, Isha raced out of the council room, letting the door slam behind her. Argor followed quick on her heels and climbed onto the bed with her when they reached her chamber.

She couldn't catch her breath. She couldn't focus. Her eyes were watering and the feeling of terror was only amplified in her mind. People would want her blood for this. They would assume she had somehow bewitched him.

Of course she wanted to marry Alistair. She had wanted to since they had first confessed their feelings for each other, but that was before she had known he was the King. Before the politics entered into it.

They had tried to stay away from each other. Tried to bury their feelings and concentrate on their tasks at hand; but it had been difficult. So difficult and the only way either of them had survived the past eighteen months was with Alistair not taking a wife from the dozens of women paraded to him, and their stealing of moments together like the night before.

Isha had wanted to leave. To go to elsewhere, anywhere, somewhere that would take her away from him so that her feelings could have a chance to die.

She had done it too. Amaranthine as Warden Commander. But it hadn't helped. If anything it had made matters worse, she had missed him all the more and seeing him again on her return, everything was reignited and burned hotter than ever before.

What was he thinking!?

It didn't seem to matter to him the implications. That he would lose everything. The crown, the love of the people of Ferelden, the trust of the Landsmeet. He couldn't do it, he couldn't throw it all away, not for her. She couldn't allow him. No matter how head strong or stubborn he was going to be, there were more important things that he needed to focus on now than her, than their love which had been.

Calming, Isha ran her hand across Argor's head, smoothing her fingers across his ears. Argor whined a little, and nudged Isha's arm with his nose.

"It's not fair." Isha murmured into the canopy of her bed. "I never wanted any of this."

The mabari licked her hand, shuffling closer and laying his head on her stomach.

"Why did this happen to me? The Blight... Alistair... everything. Why couldn't things have been simpler." She sighed and rolled over to sit up. "Maybe they should have made me Tranquil."

Despite the windows and doors in her room being open, she felt like she was being smothered being in there. As if the walls were closing in and she couldn't breathe properly. Pulling her hair from it's neat bun, Isha drew her hands through it and sighed.

"I need some air." She stood and walked towards the armoire where she kept her clothes. Opening it, she found the things she needed, a loose cotton shirt and some soft leather britches. Riding boots and a thicker leather coat to go over her shirt. "Argor."

To his name the mabari lifted his head. He barked, recognising the clothing and pulled himself off Isha's bed eagerly.

Isha felt the same eagerness, more to leave the palace she found a prison and never come back.


	2. So Selfish

**Thank you for all the follows, that was unexpected!**

**I hope you enjoy the second chapter.**

* * *

Walking to the stables had only one major downside, that it required going through almost the whole palace to get there. Something which also meant passing countless number of servants that worked in the palace.

Normally, that wasn't an issue. Isha would pass them, some of them would nod their heads to her in respect and some she knew well enough to say hello to and stop for a brief conversation. Today there was nothing of the sort. Even though she walked quickly and with her head down, she could see them all pause in their work to look at her as she walked through the vast hallways and rooms.

They would stop, try not to stare and fail. And then once she had gone past, she would hear the whispers.

Clearly news travelled far more swiftly through the palace than Isha initially believed. The servers present at the council meetings who refilled empty goblets had no idea what 'confidential' meant. The news that Alistair had announced his intention to marry her would be all over Denerim by the evening.

The looks, the whispers, the thought of being the centre of attention only made Isha walk quicker, her pace frantic and practically a run as she descended the steps down to the main hall where court was in session. During court audiences Alistair dealt with other issues brought to him by local townsfolk and freeholders.

Bypassing the more direct route to the outside through the hall, Isha ducked into a side passage meant only for servants. It was a narrow passage which disappeared down a winding staircase to the kitchens.

Cook was particular about who came and went from the kitchens, and as Isha expected, she started screaming bloody murder on seeing Argor following Isha out of the small servant door.

Apologising, Isha carried on her way, through a large wooden door which led to the outside herb and vegetable gardens.

The smells were over whelming, enveloping Isha in the afternoon sun. Immediately she felt more relaxed, being outside surrounded by more welcoming smells than those of the palace. She slowed her pace to a walk. News didn't seem to have reached the garden workers yet, they all looked at her and smiled, a few bid her a good afternoon which she returned.

Still she would not be completely relaxed until she was out of Denerim, until she was somewhere she could let herself unwind and let her thoughts and troubles melt away, even if it was only for a short while.

The stables of Denerim were impressive, lines of boxes where horses stuck their heads out to see what was happening. Most were destriders, strong animals, sure footed and well built. Able to carry a man in full armour at a gallop into battle - not that Ferelden really relied on Calvary. There were a handful of more dainty animals, kept for visiting nobility and for the women who may want to take a more gentile ride.

Isha was not one of them.

Her own steed, a dark brown destriders named Timbra brayed and shook his head wildly from side to side when she approached. Laying her hand across his nose, Isha unlocked the stable door and walked inside. Argor patiently waited outside the stable.

"Easy, Timbra... good boy..." she hushed him, her voice soft and warm, keeping the animal calm. Timbra snorted, pawing the ground impatiently as if asking where she had been. Isha had not been for a ride in some time, relying on the grooms to take Timbra for daily exercise. He showing his chagrin by trying to nip at her hair and hands when they drew towards his mouth.

"Chancellor Amell?" One of the grooms peeked around the stable door. "Do you intend to ride?"

"Yes," she answered, "please bring Timbra's bridle and saddle. I'll get him ready myself."

The groom disappeared, leaving Isha to softly speak to the animal until he returned.

Timbra had been a difficult horse to break in using a bridle and saddle, but now he relished being made ready to ride. He was patient when Isha pulled the bridle on over his face, teasing the bit into the mouth. She applied the saddle making sure it was tight enough so it wouldn't slip off but not so tight that it made Timbra uncomfortable.

Leading him out of his stable, Isha mounted him, adjusted the stirrups and called Argor to her side.

"Where should we say you have gone, should anyone ask for you?" one groom inquired, pausing in his brushing of one of the other horses.

"No where. Just... don't even tell them I've been here."

"But-"

"Please." Isha added, "I'll be back before dark."

Kicking Timbra into a trot, Isha was out of the gates a few moments later, the hooves of the destrider echoing off the cobble stone. The exit divided into different locations, one which went straight into Denerim city, another that just circled around Denerim and another pathway which was a short ride into open country fields.

Taking the third route always ran the risk of being open to attack from wolves, bandits and all other manner of men and creatures that lived in the wilds, but Isha had her magic and travelled with a short blade, plus she had Argor who would smell and alert her to danger before she even noticed it.

Once the cobbles had disappeared being replaced by soil and grass and Timbra was warmed up; Isha squeezed her heels into the horse's sides, easing him to a cantering pace. She was leaving Denerim quickly behind her and in front of her was only open grassland, trees and shrubs and wild flowers as far as she could see.

She loved it, this was what she missed the most about the time of the Blight, camping out in the wilds of nowhere, being surrounding by nothing but sky above and earth below. No politics, no dealing with difficult feelings and trying to suppress them. While camping out in the middle of nowhere during the Blight may not have been ideal, it was a simpler time than now.

Now every day was a painful challenge to get through. A difficult situation she would force herself to endure until she could retire to the privacy of her own room and drown in her sorrow there with a mabari for company.

Back then, nearly two years ago now, she hadn't had to hide her feelings, she and Alistair had been free to be who they wanted, he the bumbling, gentle ex-Templar and she the ex-Circle Mage saved from being turned tranquil by Duncan. They had bonded and shared and grown so close over that time, during those long nights around the camp fire and under the stars, that even when she had discovered he was really the King... it hadn't changed anything for her.

Only when the Landsmeet insisted he would need a wife who could bear children, that's when it all changed. She had struggled in the palace, and even more so when she went to Amaranthine. It seemed that near or far her feelings for him would never die and she would be doomed to live with them for all eternity, unable to truly act on them unless they both did, in secret, hidden away from the eyes of the Landsmeet and anyone else who might disapprove.

At times it had grown so hard she had considered disappearing into the Deep Roads, decades before her Calling just to put an end to it.

But each time she had thought that, she had stopped herself, imagining all she would be leaving behind.

Now though... what could she think now?

Alistair had made his intentions known. He hadn't told her, and now she knew why he hadn't mentioned is 'announcement' to her, but his announcement had been everything she had ever wanted.

She should have been happy. More than happy, elated, ecstatic, overjoyed. They didn't have to hide any more, they were free again to be together to love and be loved publicly. She wouldn't have to watch him with another, someone else who was noble, could make him laugh and love him, give him the heirs he needed.

But she wasn't.

She felt nothing but dread and a terrible sense of foreboding had settled over her as soon as he had made his announcement. The sick feeling hadn't disappeared as she had hoped it would. In fact it was worse now than it had been, as she ran away from her fears and troubles, instead of facing them like she knew she should have.

She was angry too, with Alistair. That he hadn't taken anything into consideration except the two of them and that was selfish. Wynne had once said to her love was ultimately selfish and Alistair was proving it true, despite his good intentions.

He hadn't thought of the reaction of the Chantry, the Landsmeet, the Arls and Banns who had supported him. Not to mention the people who had come to love him over the last year and a half, they would never stand for him having a mage as the Queen of Ferelden.

The Hero of Ferelden, yes; perhaps that would be a union they would celebrate, but not when the Hero was a mage.

Slowing Timbra, Isha drew the beast into a slow walk and let the reins hang low, giving both Timbra and Argor a breather from their running. Her cheeks were cold and hurt a little where the wind had hit them and she felt a little lost. Glancing around she could see nothing of civilisation, not Denerim rising out of the distance in any direction, no farms or small villages. The only landmark that gave her an indication of their location was a collection of trees and bushes nearby, rising around a pond where she and her companions had camped once while travelling to Denerim before.

She directed Timbra in that direction and pulled her feet from the stirrups allowing her legs to hang down.

Reaching the copse of trees, Isha slid out of the saddle, removed it from Timbra's back and pulled off his bridle, letting the horse roam freely nearby. Argor sniffed the area, disappearing into long grasses, barking and leaping after grouse and pheasant that he disturbed in a wild mess of feathers and wings.

Isha settled beside the pond, removed her boots and rolled her britches up to her knees and lay her feet in the cool water.

Here everything with was perfect, silent and still and she could let her mind wander as far as she wanted it to.

Her mind recalled memories of how she had looked out of the windows of the Circle wondering what life was life outside. She had never been like some of the more boisterous members of the Circle, some who tried to escape day in and day out. She had accepted she would be in the Circle for life, she didn't like it, and the tower had felt like nothing more than a giant prison, but she had settled herself down to her fate.

That she would never be more than a trapped rat, she would never love, never marry, never have children and while it had taken her a long time, she was alright with that.

And then... it had all changed. Her life had been turned wildly on its head and nothing was ever the same. Suddenly she was free of it all, away from the confinement of the Circle away from the rules and the distrusting stares of the Templars. She had a freedom she'd never really known before.

At the time she thought her new life, that of a Grey Warden was the best thing to ever happen to her. That she had been set free from a hopeless future where she would live and die never knowing anything outside the Circle walls.

Now... now she wasn't sure which life was worse. Either way she looked at it she was in a prison. The Circle and the Denerim Royal Palace. Both versions of her life were difficult and smothered her, and even though they had been going to make her Tranquil, at least in that state she would never had had any of the pesky feelings to deal with.

Argor bounded through the water, sending ripples and splashes everywhere as he chased something, a terrified frog. He dug about, kicking up earth and mud causing the water to cloud.

"Argor..." Isha opened her arms and the mabari charged towards her, jumped up to her shoulders and licking her face. She eased him down with words and rubs to his face and stomach until he was lying on his back. "We're a funny pair, you and I..." she sighed a little and pulled her feet out of the water. "Maybe we _would_ be better off leaving Denerim for good. Going our own way."

Argor barked, rolling on to his front and shaking his head.

"Oh no?" Isha tilted an eyebrow, "and what would you do?" She asked the mabari, getting to her feet.

Following her, Argor licked her left hand.

"If that's a hint for me to accept Alistair's proposal-" Argor barked loudly and wagged his whole back end. Isha stared down at the dog. "You're far too clever."

Barking again, Argor ran into the pond until he was at the deepest part and he was paddling through it. Isha sat back against the tree she had laid Timbra's bridle and saddle on, leaning back observing.

* * *

When Argor's ears pricked up and his head lifted off Isha's lap, she hadn't heard anything but she knew better than to doubt her mabari's senses, especially when he went alert and tense all at once. She paused in what she had been doing, rising to her feet causing the flower heads she had been freezing to drop out of her lap to the ground.

She saw Timbra no more than ten feet away quietly grazing.

Touching Argor's head she drew him behind the wide tree trunk and he sat, obeying her instruction. Isha tucked herself behind a bush, peering through the leaves as she started to hear what Argor had heard.

Hoof beats. Heavy and quick, the horse in question moving swiftly.

Perhaps it was a random rider who would pass them by, but Isha knew she couldn't be sure, especially as she couldn't tell how many riders there were. It wasn't unheard of for bandits to ride horses, now the Blight was over different factions were spreading like darkspawn, vying for space and territory, not unlike the Chasind.

Timbra continued grazing calmly, only lifting his head to see who was coming when they were near enough. The animal's curiosity stated, he returned to his grazing.

"Her horse is here, Your Majesty," a male voice spoke. Isha's blood turned to ice in her veins and it took all her willpower not to want to turn and run. "She can't be far."

"Have a look around," Alistair spoke. Isha heard him drop from his own saddle, and saw him approach Timbra through the gaps in the bush she hid in.

She saw another four horses dispersing.

"What's this a search party?" Isha murmured to herself. Argor heard and barked, grabbing Alistair's attention.

"Argor?" He called, and the mabari appeared from behind the tree, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and he charged towards Alistair. "Well then, she's definitely around." He grinned, easing the mabari to his feet so he stopped jumping up. For a moment, Isha forgot he was a King. Dressed in clean, but worn clothes, he didn't wear a crown or any finery, and the way he smiled made his face light up.

Isha's heart flopped in her chest and she swallowed.

"Where is she, Argor?" Alistair asked, the hound.

Barking, Argor turned once, twice in a circle as if chasing his tail and then ran towards where Isha hid, poking his nose through the leaves and slobbering on her arm.

"Traitor." Isha remarked, climbing out from the leaves and branches, pulling her hair as it snagged. "Andraste's Flaming Sword, a woman can't get an afternoon to relax."

"You didn't tell anyone where you were going." Alistair explained.

Isha crossed her arms, "there was a reason for that."

She saw his expression twinge, frowning and uncertain. One of the men on horseback, a solider Isha didn't know had stayed close by. Alistair walked towards him, they exchanged a few short words, both of them looked back at Isha and then the solider nodded.

He kicked his horse in to a canter, locating the other four men on horseback quickly. Eventually they were disappearing into the distance leaving only Alistair and Isha facing each other with their horses and Argor.

Isha stood silent for a few minutes, watching Alistair uncertainly. Her folded arms were looser across her chest, not so hostile.

He hadn't approached her, and apart from what he had said on finding her, he hadn't spoken any more words. He stood, his body relaxed and at ease, gazing around the copse, the pond, at the leaves in the trees, at the sky, occasionally his eyes would land on her and they would just stare at one another until one broke the sustained gaze.

"What are you doing here?" Isha asked eventually.

"Can't the King go on a ride around his own country?" He teased, smirking a little. "I knew you'd come here, if anywhere else."

"I didn't plan to." Isha replied shortly.

"Maybe." Alistair breathed in deeply. He started walking towards Isha and brushed passed her until he was at the edge of the pond. "But I knew that you'd end up here."

Isha stared at his back. Even through his wine coloured cotton shirt she could see how well built he was, how the fabric clung to his muscles and across his shoulders. "...How?" she asked eventually.

"I know you." Alistair shrugged, and Isha could hear him smiling. "I remembered that we camped here before we reached Denerim that first time. I remembered that Leliana sang, and I also recalled how much you liked it here."

"I liked a lot of places we camped." Isha remarked defensively.

"True," Alistair nodded, "but this is the closest place to Denerim. And you wouldn't go too far, you hadn't taken anything with you, like your staff, clothes or books." He laughed, "I had worried you would leave after my announcement today."

"Believe me, I was considering it." Isha replied. "Alistair, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about us." He said, turning towards her and looking at her calmly. "I couldn't have told you first, you would have tried to talk me out of it."

"I'm still going to try." Said Isha, "it's... do you have any idea what the implications are?"

"Of course I do." Alistair explained coolly. "I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were." Sighed Isha, "I just... I want you to think."

Alistair ran his fingers across his temple, "I have thought. I know how hard it's going to be. Getting the support of the Landsmeet, getting the support of the Chantry. The people of Ferelden, I don't know. I think it won't be that bad because you're still their Hero of Ferelden, but Isha this is what I want. More than that, this is what you want!"

"I-"

"Don't lie to me. Don't try to tell me it's not true."

"I wouldn't." Shouted Isha, drawing stares from the horses and Argor. "For the Love of the Maker, Alistair, of course I wouldn't. I want everything from you. I have wanted it, and Andraste's Mercy, it's selfish of me. Horrifically selfish. When you told me we couldn't be together after that Landsmeet, I thought I was going to die it hurt so much. I felt like I would never be able to breathe again. But I fought through it, for you. Because even though it killed me to spend every day with you without being able to act on my feelings, I did as you asked. Not because you're King, or even because you made me Chancellor. I would have stayed even without it being my duty because I would have at least been close to you."

"The Landsmeet..." Alistair rubbed his fingers through his beard, "I had only just been... I thought I was making the right decision. It hurt me too."

"Well you hid it remarkably well." Isha growled bitingly. She drew her hands across her face, tears had started welling in her eyes and she didn't want them to fall or show. Despite their rare meetings at night, she had never been able to talk to him so candidly about what had happened, about everything she felt.

"Every stolen moment we've had together since then, every kiss, every touch was agony, acting as a reminder of what I had once had and what I couldn't have again." Isha continued, drawing shaky breaths, "I knew I couldn't because I had been told by you, by Arls and anyone else who felt they had the _right_ to tell me, that I was a mage, I was beneath you, I was unable to bear children. I had no right to you. I was told it so much that I started to believe it."

"And that hurt me." Alistair professed softly. "When you started saying how you were low born, that you were a mage... as if that meant you had no right to happiness, and I had no right to it either. Isha," he stepped towards her, grasping her hands from her face to hold them in his, "I cannot be happy with anyone else except you."

Isha hiccupped in response, gritting her teeth.

"I realised my mistake early. I could see how you struggled and I felt the same, I knew I had made the biggest error of my life telling you we couldn't be together like that. I thought it was the right thing to do, I was wrong. All the time I felt like I was being drawn to you, but you shut me out."

"What was I supposed to do." Sobbed Isha, "you're the King. I'm-"

"If you say a mage or low born, I'm never going to kiss you again." Warned Alistair, an edge of teasing in his voice. His words drew a small laugh from Isha at the very least and she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I've not gone into this blindly." He explained, drawing his arms around Isha's smaller body and resting his temple against her hair.

"W-what?"

"I made the announcement today, but the truth is I've been looking into ways around the... difficulties we might have for some time. Doing my own research and speaking to the right people." Alistair explained softly, "Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan think it should be fairly easy to talk the majority of the Landsmeet around. The Chantry will be more of a challenge, especially the Grand Cleric but there are ways we can get those even further up the chain to talk to them, make them see sense. No one is saying it will be easy, and no one is saying we'll be married in the morning... But Isha, if I can't marry you... I'm not going to marry anyone."

Drawing in a trembling breath, Isha drew her eyes down to the ground, closing them as she struggled to breathe easily. The words Alistair had said filled her mind and she allowed them to penetrate deeply, causing a sense of steadiness and warmth to spread through her body all the way to her fingers, the likes of which she had never felt before.

"Isha," Alistair murmured, his mouth close to her ear that it made her shiver. "What do you think?"

She drew her head away from him, looking at him shrewdly for a moment. His eyes were so honest and kind, staring at her hopefully, warmly. She felt his arms around her and for the first time in a long time didn't feel guilty for enjoying his strength and the feeling of him holding her. "I think..." she said slowly, looking briefly at the ground causing her dark hair to spill over her shoulder.

"You think?" Prompted Alistair.

"I think," Isha looked at him, "that those noble daughters are going to be very disappointed."

The smile that broke out across his face was enough to take her breath away as he lifted her off the ground and span. Isha's grasped her arms around his neck, holding tight until her feet touch the earth again.

He kissed her without warning, his mouth against her own, his hands in her hair drawing her head back. She returned it, fiercely and with gusto, her fingers enmeshed in the short blonde locks of hair across his scalp.

Oh, she had missed this, kisses without abandon.

Kisses full of fervour and hunger, passion and heat. Not like their ones stolen that were an attempt to convey all their desperation in one moment, this was something entirely different. Isha's stomach turned over several times and she felt giddy and lightheaded all at once, like she would drift off if a wind so much as even threatened to blow.

"I love you, Isha." Alistair murmured against her mouth, drawing her in for another kiss which she eagerly responded to.

When Isha pulled away, she was nodding her head gently. "I love you." She reciprocated the sentiment and lay a light kiss at the corner of his mouth. "It is so good to say that without feeling like I'm committing some heinous sin."

Alistair laughed heartily, crushing his mouth to hers once more.

There was no feeling like it, not one that sprang to mind that she could ever equate the sense of joy this moment gave her. They were going to suffer for their selfishness, going to find blocks at every turn, but at that moment she didn't care. Couldn't bring herself to care.

"What now?" Inquired Isha, pulling away entirely and searching the area with her eyes for her discarded boots.

"We return to Denerim." Alistair answered. Isha groaned a little, "I've asked for no one to stare, or ask questions, unless you bring things up first. If they have any grievances, they can come to me."

"You are going to be extremely in demand." Isha remarked, sitting on the grass. She brushed dirt and soil off the bottom of her foot. "What happened in the rest of the Council meeting after my hasty exit?"

"More shouting." Explained Alistair, "The Grand Cleric most vociferous of all. Obviously advisors were speaking their own minds, not those of those they serve. Most of them I've already sent letters to and arranged for them to visit."

"You have been busy." Said Isha, leaning back on the grass.

"And we'll be busy for a while. You'll need to be at every occasion, every visit from every Arl, Bann or Teyrn. You and I are going to need to put on a united front if we're going to get enough support for this to be allowed." He told her seriously. Helping Isha up, he planted a kiss on her forehead and released her as she went to begin saddling Timbra again. "That isn't to say we won't be able to... enjoy ourselves."

"Indeed?" Isha quirked an eyebrow, fitting the bridle over Timbra's head.

Holding his hands behind his back, Alistair's threw her a cheeky smile, "we won't have to stay in separate rooms anymore."

Isha laughed, "you won't want to sleep in the same room as me."

"Of course I would." Replied Alistair. Isha rolled her eyes at him, only prompted Alistair to grin.

"You won't want to because I'll keep you up with my nightmares."

"Nightmares? You haven't mentioned anything about nightmares."

"Not much to mention." Isha shrugged her shoulders. "Same as during the Blight, darkspawn, seeing people I care about hurt and lying dead in their blood."

Alistair's brows furrowed, "that... is worrying."

She looked at him curiously, "you haven't had any?"

"Not for some time. Not... not since the death of the archdemon." He drew his hand through his hair, "maybe we should go to Circle, talking to Wynne, or First Enchanter Irving."

"No," Isha shook her head, "I wouldn't want to bother either of them with it. It'll pass, I'm sure." She smiled blithely fastening Timbra's girth. "Besides, it's all part of being a Grey Warden, isn't it? And you never said the nightmares go away."

"That's true." He agreed with a slight nod of his, "it might just be a case of learning to control them. I've been able to work on that, so I barely get them any more... I can teach you."

Isha kept silent, but smiled pulling Timbra's reins over his head and beginning to walk. She was in no rush to get back to Denerim and notice the stares. The large destrider followed and Argor paced beside Isha. Alistair followed her lead, pulling the reins of his own steed over its head and catching up to walk beside the dark haired mage.

He reached for Isha's hand, squeezing it gently.

* * *

That evening, Argor's barking grabbed Isha's attention as she stared at her reflection in the mirror on the vanity and ran a brush through her hair.

It had grown so long in the months since the Blight. She often thought about cutting it back to a short neat length, but had to admit she quite liked how long it was. Despite the fact it was an utter pain to deal with and wash most of the time.

"Argor!" Isha called, sure the mabari had simply found something to chase or had seen a bird fly passed the window. Oddly the hound ignored her and continued to bark, growing louder and more insistent.

Laying her brush to one side, Isha rose from the stool and went to the open door of her room. "Argor!" She snapped, using a tone reserved only for when she was telling the hound off. She saw him, further down the hallway leaping around a servant wildly.

"That is enough, Argor!" Isha scolded, storming down the hallway towards him. She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him away from the frightened servant who held a tray to her chest and quivered from head to foot. "I apologise," Isha smiled weakly, looking at the young woman while Argor whined.

The servant, an elf girl was shorter than herself. Her hair was blonde, tied neatly into a low braid over her shoulder. She was slender, with big dark eyes only showing her terror. She was pretty. Very pretty in fact, Isha had noticed how elf features could make anyone attractive with their high cheekbones, pointed ears and narrow faces.

"My name is Isha." She introduced herself, "and this lumbering pile of fur is Argor. Again, I apologise for his behaviour. He normally doesn't jump at people. Are you alright?"

Argor growled softly, his ears flattened as he seemed to stare directly into the elf girl's face. Perplexed, Isha pulled him away shutting the mabari away in her room before returning to the servant.

In her fright she had dropped several empty silver goblets to the ground. Isha retrieved them for her, laying them to one side on one of the tables that lined the corridor.

"It's alright now," she soothed, smiling as warmly as she could, "he's harmless really."

"I-I-I..." the girl stammered and shrank back a little.

"What's your name?"

"Uh... uh-uh-Or- Orenda." She answered slowly, swallowing after she spoke. "Th-that monster is yours?"

Isha's mouth quirked a little, "he's not a monster. He's a mabari. But I can see how you might think the former."

"I... I've never... wh-where I come from..." Orenda shook her head. She was still trembling, clearly the altercation with Argor had frightened her. Isha decided to stay, talk for a moment, to try and help her compose herself. She was due to go down for dinner soon, but no one had come to tell her to go down, or sent for her. She had time and the elf girl seemed in desperate need of calming.

"Where do you come from?"

"The... the Anderfels." Orenda told her, "I only began work in the palace... a few weeks ago." She gasped, and curtsied, "m'lady."

Isha laughed a little, "Isha is fine. I'm no high born lady. I'm the Chancellor to King Alistair." She told the girl lightly, "I did wonder why I hadn't seen you before. I know most of the servants here, by appearance if nothing else."

"I was... confined to the kitchens at first. T-today is my first day in the p-palace..." she took a breath, steadying herself, "I-I'm due to... to serve at dinner this evening. I'm... I'm quite nervous."

"Nothing to be nervous about." Isha replied, twisting her hair over her shoulder, "I think it's simple, and you'll have others there to help you if you get muddled. You won't get in trouble if something goes wrong."

"Bu... but the King. I don't want to upset him." Orenda explained with another tremble. "Or... or the Hero of Ferelden."

Isha's eyes widened a little. It hadn't occurred to her that the girl from the Anderfels had no idea who exactly she was talking to. It wasn't entirely surprisingly, beyond Ferelden, Isha was practically unknown.

"I... I heard the Hero is... is huge. Nine foot tall some said, and he wields an axe which drips with the blood of his felled enemies!"

"Is that so?" Folding her arms, Isha shifted her weight from one side to the other. Stories had clearly been embellished. After all, last time she looked she wasn't a man. Or nine feet tall. Nor did she wield and axe. "What else have you heard?"

Orenda gasped, "that he rode into battle with the archdemon on an ethereal griffon! And when it was dead the griffon disappeared. Like it appeared only for that battle."

"Where did you hear all this?" Isha asked her, entertained.

"The kitchens. And around Denerim."

Laughing, Isha touched Orenda's shoulder gently. "What imaginations people have." She sighed a little, "not to worry, the Hero of Ferelden is none of those things. You have no need to be frightened. Neither the Hero or the King are barbarians."

Orenda tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, smiling weakly.

"Do you feel a little better now?" Isha inquired kindly.

"Yes... yes, thank you." Orenda dipped her head in a kind of weak nod. "Please, I should go back to the kitchens... I'll be my guts for garters if I'm not there."

"Of course." Isha stepped back, allowing Orenda to pass, which she did with a few more curtsies for good measure, leaving Isha with a small grin on her face.

On returning to her room, Argor charged out of the door, growling his hackles raised as he sniffed around for the elf servant and whined when he couldn't see her down or along the hall. Isha squatted at the door waiting for the mabari to settle and come to her of his own accord.

"What was all that about?" Isha murmured to beast, running her hands across his ears and down his neck.

Argor whined, he chuffed and butted his nose into her chest. His behaviour worried her, as a rule Argor was normally well behaved. He jumped up at those new knew and threatened those he didn't like. Her first impression was that he had simply been getting the girl's scent. After all she was new to the palace and new smells always drove the mabari a little more silly than usual.

Now as she watched him turn away and pace the hallway with his nose down, small growls emitting from his chest she wasn't as certain as she had been that it was as simple as that.

"That's a troubled look if ever I saw one." Alistair's voice grabbed her from her observations and she looked up at him. He stood a few feet away, leaning on the wall. "Something wrong?"

For a moment she debated expressing her concern of Argor's behaviour to him. He had known the mabari as long as she had though Argor's friendliness towards Alistair had always been questionable. Isha thought better of it, and rose to her feet.

"Nothing." She told him, "just thinking a little."

"I see." Alistair's eyes drifted down her figure then back up, drinking her in.

She swallowed a little uneasily, clasping her hands in front of her and ducking her head. "How do I look?" She asked him, coyly.

Every day Isha's clothing was almost the same. Robes with the colours of the Grey Wardens or Denerim. She had very few other clothes, a handful of beautifully made Orlesian gowns that she had only ever worn on special occasions, Feastday and Name Days. Of the five she owned, she had only ever worn two, the more reserved of the dresses.

For her first outing as the King's betrothed she had chosen something different. A long gown in ivory with a collar that spread across her bust leaving her shoulders and her neck bare. The sleeves were slashed with bolts of pale blue fabric which seemed to have a silvery sheen to it in the right light. It fastened at the small of her back leaving her whole back exposed bar two straps that criss-crossed across it.

"You look beautiful." Alistair expressed, taking her hands and tilting her head up. "Perfect."

"United front." Isha murmured, allowing Alistair to kiss her.

Alistair's clothes seemed to change every day. He stuck to dark brown leather britches, comfortable, but formal. His boots too were leather, but a dark leather, black almost. He wore a cotton shirt in white, but over that a fine doublet in dark green, decorated with intricate white patterns. He kept with him his sword, belted at his hips.

That evening there was no one special to entertain, but they had decided on the walk home that if they were going to show their seriousness in Alistair's plan they should begin straight away.

There were plans for seamstresses to come to the palace to fit Isha for further gowns, more befitting a future Queen and the fiancée of the King.

"Are you ready?" Inquired Alistair, holding out an arm for her to hold.

She took a breath.

Going down those stairs, dressed like this, on the arm of the King was a smack in the face to everything everyone else believed and wanted.

They were two people being utterly selfish in their love for one another and determined to make it work. They were going to insult the Chantry, insult Nobles.

They were going to alienate so many people that Alistair needed in his life to rule Ferelden well, and keep the love of his subjects.

"You're certain about this?" She asked him, for what must have been the hundredth time that day. "There's no going back, you know."

Laughing, Alistair cupped her face. He kissed her, gently, slowly, lingering on her mouth. "I know." He assured her, "and I have never been more certain of anything in my whole life."

He took her arm and slotted it through his own.

"We'll have a real banquet soon for you, make everything official." Said Alistair, taking the lead down the stairs which seemed to go on for miles. Servants ducked to one side where they were cleaning and bowed their heads to Alistair in respect, though they eyes kept glued to Isha.

"That's not necessary," Isha returned, clutching the banister with her free hand, squeezing the wood as if she was trying to dent it with her fingers. "It would be a lot of fuss."

"If I was planning on announcing someone else, they would have all the stops pulled out." Returned Alistair good naturedly, "a feast, a celebration, there's no reason you shouldn't have the same."

"I understand that, bu-"

"No buts." He interrupted, grinning, "that's an order from your King."

Isha laughed a little, "alright then, Your Majesty. As it's your command." She smiled at him. Alistair kissed her forehead and led her through the hallway to the banquet hall.

Throughout most of the year, the banquet hall was just a plain room with one long table at the top of the room where Alistair sat, and smaller tables and benches lined throughout the room where the advisors and other members of the palace household sat and ate. During celebrations the room was transformed. The stone walls were covered in sheets of fabric, plants and flowers were littered throughout and the noise was deafening from those visiting.

This evening though it was so quiet when Alistair entered with Isha, that is was as if there was no one in the room though people were sitting at the tables and benches waiting for their food to be served.

Servants lined the walls ready to refill goblets with wine or ale, and attending at the top table Isha saw Orenda with three other servants.

Those in the hall stood when the King entered, and like the servants throughout the palace before, their gazes lingered on Isha, making her want to turn from the room and flee. To hide herself where they couldn't find her. The displeasure of some of them was practically tangible. Isha's fingers dug into Alistair's arm while she tried to concentrate on walking and ignore the looks being glared into her.

She practically flopped into the seat beside Alistair's more decorative chair, her legs wobbled unceremoniously and she could feel her whole body shaking.

"That's the worst bit over." Alistair whispered to her, kissing her ear. "You won't have to go through that again."

"You promise?" She returned, turning her eyes to her plate as different dishes were laid out on each table. Conversation was returning to the hall, people talking amongst themselves.

"I promise," murmured Alistair. "Now try to eat something, and don't look so terrified."

"I'll have a go." Isha returned with a weak smile, "can't make any promises though."

Kissing her hand with a smile, Alistair turned to the food being placed before him.

Dinners were always an occasion of just picking from what was placed on the table and eating at your own pace. Once a certain dish was gone, then it was finished, but there was always more than enough for everyone and always a lot left over which was then distributed through Denerim to the alienage, and families in desperate need of food.

None of it went to waste, that was one thing Alistair changed almost as soon as he became King. He was sick of seeing people being so wasteful with produce that could be given to others, and it had never been something either Calian or Anora had addressed.

On offer was roast venison and side of crackling pork. A variety of wines, vegetables grown from the palaces own gardens, roasted and steamed. Everything was, as it always was, delicious and filling.

Conversation flowed easily. Different people came to the main table to sit and talk with Alistair, casual conversation, he kept talk about issues of the country specific to the audiences and meetings. Occasionally advisors would request personal audience with him where they could discuss things more lengthily without interruption, but at meals it was strictly easy and general conversation.

Isha ate and drank quietly. Argor sat at her feet with a large beef bone, occasionally stopping to bark and wrestle with the few other mabari hounds that belonged to residents of the palace. Two or three were Argor's own children, bred while Isha was in Amaranthine to try and help rebuild the war hound numbers.

She was surprised when Ser Mathias came and sat beside her.

"You look lovely this evening, Chancellor." He said to her as she sat.

She swallowed deeply from her goblet of wine and glanced at Alistair who was in conversation with Ser Edward and Ser Darcy. Aware she would get no support from him for now, and thinking that Ser Mathias was relatively harmless, she smiled at him warmly.

"I'm grateful, Ser Mathias." She bowed her head gratefully. He wore similar to Alistair, simple light leather britches, boots and a doublet in the colours of the Southern Bannon. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," Mathias explained, "I just wanted to come and offer my congratulations."

Isha stared at him, blinking owlishly, searching for some form of mocking or deceit in his expression and words. He had been the first, and only person so far to come and offer is congratulations.

"Thank you," she smiled weakly, "you're... the first person to say anything."

"To your face, perhaps." He returned cheerfully. "Not that I mean people have been saying awful things about you."

"I'm sure they have." Isha interjected, "I can only imagine what the Grand Cleric was saying when she left the palace."

Ser Mathias laughed, "yes." He grinned. "She did say a few... colourful things." His smile lessened a little and he touched her hand, "but I genuinely offer my congratulations. I think the King is making the right decision. Not just for himself but for Ferelden."

Taken aback by his admission, Isha struggled for a moment to find the right words to say. She distracted herself with another drink from her goblet, clearing her head as the sweet wine trailed down her throat.

"Thank you," she repeated. "That's... very kind. It's good to know he has some support in his decision. I can only hope Bann Ceorlic feels the same." She twisted her hair back over her shoulder, "considering his original siding with Loghain, I can't imagine he'll be too happy."

Mathias tilted his head a little, "the Bann's support of Loghain was due to his lands being the neighbour of Loghain's." He explained. Isha noticed his tone was a little defensive. "Had he not sided with Loghain, he could have ended up dealing with an invasion from Gwaren."

"I understand that." Isha placated, "I meant no offence."

Mathias smiled at her, "none taken, I assure you. You'll have my support in the upcoming months."

"And it will be appreciated." Isha confirmed.

He grabbed a spare goblet and called for it to be filled. "A toast." He called out, standing up and pulling the attention of the room to him.

Isha shied back a little in her chair, catching a questioning look from Alistair as he turned to face the young man standing up. Ser Darcy and Ser Edward both looked perplexed.

Holding the goblet aloft, Ser Mathias spoke loudly over the room, his words echoing from the stone walls.

"A offer a toast to our King, Alistair and his newly betrothed lady, Isha Amell. Chancellor, Grey Warden Commander and Hero of Ferelden!"

To the surprise of Isha, most of the goblets in the room rose in genuine support to Ser Mathias' words. Only a few were raised half-heartedly or not at all, which was a better outcome than she had originally hoped for.

As drinks were being taken, everything seemed to start happening at once.

Out of the corner of her eye, Isha saw Orenda approaching to refill the goblets on the main table. Through the haze of wine and noise, she saw something flash silver in the low candle light and her gut churned uneasily.

Argor and the other mabari were suddenly barking wildly. Most assumed to join in with the toast and that made them cheer harder over the rising barks and growls. Alistair had drained his cup and was holding it up to be refilled.

The flash of silver Isha had seen shone again and she dropped her wine to the table, pushing her seat back.

Argor yowled and charged under the table, leaping from the ground grabbing Orenda's arm in his maw.

The elf girl screamed, dropping her jug of wine to the floor with a crash. By now, the cheering had stopped and bodies were rushing up to the top table.

Another two mabari came to Argor's aid, chomping their jaws down on Orenda, on her other arm and leg, keeping her in place.

"Your Majesty!" Ser Darcy's face paled. In her hand she held a small dagger, coated in blood and some other kind of liquid that Isha couldn't make out.

All the blood drained from Alistair's face as she toppled back, out of his seat unceremoniously, twitching and convulsing on the ground. Advisors crowded round him, while a handful of guards heaved Orenda to her feet, pushing and pulling the mabari away.

"Give him room!" Isha screamed, "you'll suffocate him!"

Her cry seemed enough. People dispersed and let her through. Wine stained her gown and now blood as she kneeled in the pool collecting around Alistair's neck and shoulder. She lay her hand over the wound, blue magic spilling from her fingers trying to heal with wound.

"Ser Darcy?" She found the woman holding the dagger, a small ornate thing with a wooden handle encrusted with pretty gems. Isha held out her free hand for the item and Ser Darcy handed it to her. Without hesitation, Isha licked the hilt of the blade where the blood had not yet travelled.

She spat immediately.

"Poison." She announced. Ser Darcy took the blade back. She stared at Orenda who was being held back by guards, her eyes dull and almost lifeless. "Take her to the dungeon. The rest of you, we need to get the King to his chambers. Someone ride as fast as you can to the Circle of Magi. We need an expert healer. Wynne, ask for Wynne. And be swift!"

Alistair convulsed again on the ground, vomit came from his mouth, Isha turned his head so it could all escape and he wouldn't choke.

A small band of guards appeared as if from nowhere. They moved the advisors and others out of the way, heaving Alistair up under his arms and legs to carrying him to his chamber.

Isha could only follow.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts in the reviews. =]**


	3. Revelations

He woke suddenly, gasping for air as if he had been submerged underwater and struggling to reach the surface. His muscles ached, pain racing down each limb to his finger tips and toes. It felt strange, a pain he had not known for nearly two years embracing his every muscle and nerve. That feeling of fighting, of taking hit after hit from blades and weapons, of armour dented, of broken bones.

His head was a haze. A mist of pain and bright lights that hurt his eyes when he chanced to look at them. He lifted a hand to shield himself from the white light and cried out when his arm spasmed and dropped down to his side.

His body convulsed unexpectedly. His whole body going tense and seizing up while he shook and trembled. His jaw locked together preventing him from shouting or yelling beyond agonised groans. His hands and fingers dug into the soft fabric beneath him, tearing at it desperately while his head shook from side-to-side.

His body was not his to control. He felt like a puppet, being dangled and manipulated by unseen strings, his body twisted and tortured to the extreme.

The pain slowly began to go, a pale blue glow floated above him like a thin blanket forcing his muscles to relax. He heard a voice, words he didn't know being spoken in some kind of chant.

"Breathe, Your Majesty," the voice spoke gently. A woman's voice. Older, calming and gentle. One he thought he knew somewhere at the back of his mind.

Alistair did as he was told, he took breaths, deep and steady through his nose letting them out of his mouth, concentrating on the feelings of his muscles relaxing again, the texture of the fabric against his naked skin.

Drawing a hand across where he lay he recognised he was in bed, on the heavy mattress of the bed in his chambers in Denerim Palace. He knew his location, things were slowly coming into focus. The canopy above his bed directly above him and the four posts at the corners. He could see the door leading out to the hallway was shut. The white light had been coming from an open window on the other side of the room.

All his belongings were beginning to make sense. The bookshelves and desk, he saw his ceremonial armour neatly in one corner standing up, polished to a perfect shine. His sword and shield on the wall. Even his pike was attached to a weapon stand.

The blue veil disappeared from above him in a sprinkling of beautiful glowing orbs.

"How are you feeling now, Your Majesty?" The woman's voice asked him gently.

Then he saw her, she looked a little older than when he had last seen her, but her white hair was still pulled into it's neat, professional, no-nonsense bun. She wore a different set of robes now, perhaps they were more suited to one in second command to the First Enchanter.

"Wynne?" Alistair breathed, a smile coming to his mouth as the older woman returned it. Her attention went to a small table beside him which he hadn't noticed. It was piled up with bottles and vials of different liquids, seeds and potions, a whole manner of things Alistair didn't recognise.

She was grinding something in a pestle and mortar. The sound was awful, making Alistair grit his teeth to try and block it out. It was as if the sound was magnified, his sense of hearing more acute.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, once Wynne had stopped grinding whatever she had been. "Where's Isha?" He noticed his bed was empty and that aside from Wynne there was no one else in the room.

The older mage chuckled. "I knew you would ask for her first." She sighed. She poured the contents of the mortar in a tankard then went to the fire place where a kettle was over the flames. Pulling that away, she filled the tankard with water and replaced the kettle. "I sent Isha to bed. She has not left your side for days. Poor thing, I think she's had less than ten hours sleep this past week."

"Week?" Alistair repeated, shocked. A week? Why had Isha been at his side for a week? Why was he in bed? What was Wynne doing here? He was trying to remember. "What happened?"

"What do you recall?" Inquired Wynne, sitting on the chair beside Alistair's bed.

He groaned, running his hand across his temple as he scrunched his eyes closed and tried to dig into his memory, to bring up what he last recalled. He remembered so little, and what he did know it was just moments. Flashes of a jumbled mess. He recalled proposing to Isha, and finding her out in the countryside of Denerim. The Grand Cleric practically denouncing him. Then...

"My last memory is speaking to Ser Darcy and Ser Edward at dinner." He admitted. Steadying his hands of the soft mattress beneath him, Alistair pushed himself into a sitting position, grunting with effort. His muscles felt like they were all on fire and when he tried to move his neck there was a painful tugging sensation. A tightness.

When he reached behind him, he felt a fabric bandage across the back of his neck. If he hadn't been concerned before, he was now. He looked at Wynne seriously. "Wynne, why are you here?"

"You were attacked," Wynne explained bluntly. "At the supper that evening, one of the servants stabbed you in the shoulder. We think she was aiming for your neck, and missed - luckily."

"Stabbed...?"

"The blade she used was coated in poison. You reacted very quickly, convulsing, vomiting. Isha sent for me immediately, and I arrived a day later after travelling non-stop." Wynne told him steadily. She stirred the contents of the tankard as she spoke. "It was... very uncertain for a while. Isha used her meagre healing skills to keep the venom at bay until I arrived and thank goodness she did, had it reached your heart, well - we would be looking for another King."

Alistair stared at her and suddenly felt over whelmed by the sense of his own mortality. He knew he would die, but had always believed it would have either been in the battle with the archdemon, or now against hordes of darkspawn when he answered his Calling. He had never imagined, even after he became King, that someone would try to assassinate him. And so blatantly too. In front of his advisors, his guards, in his own home.

"Who was the servant?" He demanded.

"An elf girl, named Orenda. She's being held in the dungeons but has been silent about her reasons for trying to kill you." Wynne explained.

"She won't be when-"

"Don't you dare try to get up!" Wynne snapped, pushing him back down into the pillows behind him. He was surprised when he couldn't struggle against her, he felt weak and dizzy now he had moved. "You're still very weak."

"Weak?"

"Yes." Wynne told him, "most of the venom is out of your body now, thank goodness, so the worst is over. Some toxin may remain for a few days. But you won't be back to normal for a little while yet." Wynne handed him the tankard which was now cooler. "You'll need to eat and take gentle walks for a few days, to rebuild your strength. Now drink that."

Alistair sniffed it and made a face. "What is it?" He asked, holding it away from him.

Wynne looked down at him with an eyebrow raised making him feel like the ten-year-old boy in Redcliffe having been caught doing something wrong. "It's a mixture of elfroot, nettles and heatherum. Drink it down, it will help in washing your body of any remaining toxins."

"Can't you make it smell any better?" He inquired, throwing Wynne a cheeky grin in response to her withering gaze. Holding his nose he drank it down in several large gulps and - to his own surprise - managed to hold it down. Placing the tankard to one side, Alistair watched as Wynne cleared up a few of the items of the table, replacing stoppers and clearing up discarded leaves. "Who's been dealing with audiences while I've been... indisposed?"

Wynne looked at him shrewdly, "when I arrived here, so did Arl Eamon and Teagan. Isha sent for them shortly after she sent for me, to deal with things in your stead. What happened is only known by those who witnessed it, and by myself, Eamon and Teagan. Your subjects have been told that you suffered an injury on a ride and have to be bed ridden until you're better."

Ruffling a hand through his hair, Alistair let out a breath and slumped back against the cushions, "good. The people know Eamon and that won't spread panic." He said to himself, "Isha knew exactly what to do." He added, with a smile to himself.

"Yes..." Wynne spoke slowly, coming to sit once more in the seat near Alistair's bed. "Your Majesty... Alistair," she sighed, "may I speak candidly?"

"When have you ever not?" Retorted Alistair playfully. "Of course you can Wynne. I'd be insulted if you didn't."

"I..." Wynne started then stopped. She clasped her hands together on her lap in front of her. "I was told of your intention to marry Isha." She explained, "is that true?"

"Yes." Alistair replied, his tone guarded. Wynne had been the only one in camp to ever really say anything against his and Isha's relationship. It had been for their well being, she had been looking out for them, but at the same time, Alistair had felt it hadn't been her place to say anything. "What of it?"

"Are you certain you've thought it all through properly? The two of you? I know you're prone to being a little impetuous-"

"Impetuous?" Repeated Alistair. "Impetuous would be announcing I was planning to marry her the day of my coronation and doing it there and then. It's been eighteen months. We've spent time apart during that time and we both still feel the same way. We're not rushing into things or being impetuous."

Wynne continued speaking to him calmly. "I don't mean any offence, and maybe impetuous was the wrong word. But you are both Grey Wardens. The likelihood of your conceiving an heir is... well... impossible."

"It is not impossible." Remarked Alistair, "we're told that having children as Grey Wardens is _difficult_ not _impossible._"

"Not impossible if the other person _isn't_ a Grey Warden." Wynne replied coolly.

Alistair clenched his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I had no idea the fruit of my loins and sex life were everyone else's business now."

"You're the King." Wynne snapped, "of course it's no longer your private business. It is your duty to provide an heir and a spare, to carry on your blood line. It's even more imperative for you as your life span is already depleted due to the taint."

"Thank you for the reminder." Alistair scoffed.

"It is nothing to scoff at, Alistair." Reprimanded Wynne, "as King it is your duty to produce an heir to follow the Theirin bloodline. Marrying Isha is a selfish act in and of itself, considering how difficult it will be for her to conceive. If she even does."

"As King is it my job also to marry someone whom I don't love, just for the sake of politics? And to produce a child?" Growled Alistair, narrowing his eyes at the older mage. "I will not be like every other King and marry a perfect stranger."

Wynne sighed, "you have a duty-"

"I have a duty, yes I know. My whole life is duty. The rest of my existence will be duty. And I will do my duty." Alistair was practically shouting, "I will serve Ferelden and her people, I will do everything in my power to reign fairly, justly and with a firm hand. I will do my duty to give this country prosperity and happiness while I sit on the throne. I will do so much duty that I wanted to be selfish."

"Alistair..."

"I wanted to have the woman I love, whom I adore, sit beside me until the end of our days. I spurned her once, for politics, for _duty_ and it made us both miserable." He explained, calming down a little as he stared at Wynne fervently. "I want Isha to be my wife. I have asked, and she has accepted. I will marry her, either as King or as a wandering mistral dancing the Remigold, but I _will_ be with her."

The silence between the two of them was tense for some time. The two of them staring at each other, neither one backing down. Even as Alistair felt exhausted and like his body was going to give way at any moment, he wouldn't back down from the mage. If he couldn't make her see how serious he was, then making the Landsmeet and anyone else believe him was doomed.

Eventually Wynne took a long breath and bowed her head, looking at her clasped hands in her lap.

"I should go." She said primly, "you need your rest and this arguing will only tire you."

Alistair watched her as she rose from the chair and gathered up a few things, "Wynne, is that it? You're not going to say anything?"

"What is there to say." She said, speaking with her back to him. "Alistair, you've made up your mind. You're not going to listen to an old woman like me. Maker, help you though."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He inquired warily.

"It means what it means. Maker help you. If you fail in your endeavours, in taking this selfish route to be with Isha, and thereby neglecting your duties as a King..." Wynne sighed, "Maker help you."

Alistair frowned, he had more to say, but his mind was becoming foggy and his limbs were starting to ache.

"I'll return in a few hours to check on you. Rest now, Your Majesty."

He just heard the door to his chamber open and close before he drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

The dungeons were the one place in Denerim Palace that she made a habit to avoid. In a way, they were lucky that they rarely needed using but still, descending the stone steps made her flesh chill and rise in gooseflesh.

It was cold and draughty, the only heat came from the flame sconces on the wall and light was minimal. It was damp, a disgusting place than smelled rank with the lingering scent of old blood that had seeped into the stone.

The cells were all tiny, strewn with old straw with only a tiny window to let in light. The doors heavy wood, almost impossible to break with only a tiny gap on them so guards could see through. Different rooms were used for different things, a room used for interrogation was probably the nicest, and that wasn't saying much. It, like the rest of the dungeon was dank and cold, no real light except from lamps.

The largest room was where the more painful interrogations took place. Items of torture were laid out in an organised fashion, blood stains around some of them, and on the rack the wood was forever miscoloured with blood that had been spilt. There were hanging cages with spikes poking inwards so the prisoner could never relax or sit, unless they wanted to risk being impaled.

Isha blanched as she walked through there.

She had never understood why such tools of pain and torture were necessary. Not until now.

Orenda had been held in a metal cage for days, starved of food and only taken out for further questioning. The girl's resolve was impressive, she was silent all the time, her voice only breaking to cry out in pain. She was beaten and bruised, her skin stained and coated in dry gore. Her head had been roughly shaved, causing chunks of her scalp to be removed and leaving oozing sores. She was wasting away, she would die either from starvation or from the injuries inflicted as she was questioned time and time again.

When Teagan saw Isha standing at the door of where Orenda was being held, he walked to her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked concerned. "I can deal with this."

"I wanted to know if she had said anything." Isha told him leaning on the door frame. "No one has said anything to me for days."

Teagan sighed, "because she remains silent. She speaks only to swear at us. Beyond that... nothing." He explained. Placing a hand on Isha's shoulder he smiled weakly, "you should sleep. You look dead on your feet."

"I'll sleep later." Isha shook her head. "I want to know why she attacked Alistair, and who sent her."

"You're certain she was sent?"

"There is no way she is acting alone." Remarked Isha, "someone would have had to write her recommendation to get her job in the palace here. Orenda is just a pawn."

"As you say." Teagan stepped away, turning to look at the frail elf girl. The men set to guard her stood silent and stoic in front of the hanging cage. "I sent men to look through her room, through her belongings. So far they have found nothing."

Isha sighed, "if she has instructions, then she has probably either destroyed any evidence, or hidden them in the palace. We would need to turn the whole place upside-down to find it, and even then we may not."

"Have you found out the base of the poison used?"

"Not yet." Isha answered, "the apothecary is working on it. Honestly, times like this I could use Zevran's expertise."

"The Antivan elf?" Queried Teagan.

"Yes," said Isha, "he was a Crow. He could probably tell the poison just from the effect it had on Alistair. But last I heard he was in Rivain. I wouldn't know where to start looking to find him." Pausing she stepped past Teagan, moving towards Orenda in the cage, her eyes narrowed. The bites from the mabari were festering, infected and badly in need of treatment. "Have you found any unusual markings on her body?"

"None of note." Teagan told her, "no distinguishing tattoos, or birthmarks. Nothing helpful."

Through the bars of the cage, Orenda stared intently at Isha, her eyes dark and shallow in her face. Defiant and furious, like some kind of wild animal.

"I have to wonder if her story about coming from the Anderfels was even true." Remarked Isha. "I doubt it. I doubt Orenda is even her real name."

"You spoke with her?" Inquired Teagan, coming to Isha's side.

She nodded slowly, "once. Outside my chambers. Argor was barking at her viciously. I should have known something was wrong when he reacted as such." She sighed, "it was stupid of me. She said she was new, that she had come from the Anderfels."

"Lies, more than likely."

Isha shrugged her shoulders. "If she doesn't talk, we'll never know." Turning to Teagan she smiled weakly. "I'm going back to Alistair's chambers. Send for me if anything happens."

"Of course." Teagan smiled warmly and gave Isha's shoulder a short squeeze of reassurance as she turned and walked for the door.

"How fairs your false King?" Orenda croaked from her cage, catching Isha in her steps. "Dead yet?"

Isha's breath hitched. She turned back to the cage and approached it swiftly. The guards stopped her from grabbing the bars.

Orenda was smiling at her, lips cracked and bleeding, eyes slightly crazed.

Isha felt Teagan grab her wrist and try to pull her away from the elf girl.

"Now you talk..." Said Isha, "have you been waiting for me?"

Orenda replied with nothing, only an increasing smile.

"He lives." Isha told her, narrowing her eyes fiercely. She saw a look of shock and surprise briefly flicker across Orenda's eyes before they dulled. "You failed in your attempt to kill him. He is almost recovered."

"What a shame." Remarked Orenda. "The true King will have to wait a while longer to claim his throne."

"Alistair is the true King." Isha snapped, shoving the cage causing it to rock. Orenda reached out to steady herself, cutting her hands and arms on the spikes pointing inwards. The guards grabbed Isha by the shoulders and forced her back a little.

"Not mine." Orenda spat.

"What do you mean?" Demanded Isha, "you have your own King you serve?"

"Aye." Orenda smirked, "the true King of Ferelden. The true King of Thedas. Not this bumbling usurper people fawn over now."

Teagan moved towards the cage. "Who? Who is this person you serve?" Orenda only stared at him with bored eyes and shook her head. Teagan looked at Isha who's shoulders were square and tense. "Tell us what you know!" He shouted, growing more frustrated with the elf girl.

"I will." Orenda sang, her eyes fixed on Isha. "Only to her though."

His eyes widened.

"Let her out." Isha ordered.

"Isha-"

"Let her out. Now." Isha said again, more firmly. "And the three of you leave her with me."

The guards looked at each other and to Teagan for clarification.

Teagan stood in front of Isha, blocking her view to Orenda. "Isha, do not do this. She is baiting you, nothing more. She knows nothing. She only wishes to be let out. She'll attack you the first chance she has."

"With what?" Queried Isha. "She has no weapons, unless she has one hidden on her naked body. She cannot harm me."

Unease was clear on Teagan's face. He was not comfortable with the idea of leaving Isha alone with the woman who had only days before tried to assassinate the King, but if there was a chance doing so would get her talking...

"Alright," Teagan said eventually, rubbing his hands across his eyebrows, "but I will be just outside the door with the guards. If I hear anything, we're coming back in."

"Very well." Replied Isha with a firm nod.

Giving the key to the cage to Isha, Teagan instructed the guards to follow him. They left the room, and Teagan followed casting a final glance back at Isha and Orenda before closing the door soundly.

The heavy iron keys jangled in Isha's hand as she found the one that would fit the cage lock.

Orenda kept her eyes trained on her, watching her move across the floor to the cage and turn the key in the lock slowly. Isha kept the door closed for a moment, holding it with her hands. She turned her eyes to Orenda and stared at her seriously.

"If you attack me, I _will_ kill you." She warned. After she had removed her hands, the cage door swung open. Isha stepped back giving Orenda enough space to climb out of the cage. The elf caught herself on the spikes again, opening up new cuts across her arm and back. Unfazed, she stretched when she was free of the confining space.

"Much better." Orenda murmured as her back popped.

"You're out." Isha pointed out, crossing her arms, "now talk."

"In time." Orenda sighed. She cleared her throat, it was still hoarse after no water and little speaking.

"No, now." Snapped Isha. "You do not have a free amount of time to speak. You speak and then you are going back into your cage."

"That hardly makes me want to spill my guts." Laughed Orenda. "Maybe if you promised I would be treated better."

Narrowing her eyes, Isha's arms tightened over her chest. "I am not helping you. Or making a deal. You nearly killed the King. That is treason and you will die, but not before I get the information out of you I want."

Orenda smirked, "and if I don't feel so talkative."

"You have no idea with whom you are dealing." Isha snarled, clenching her fingers into her arms. She could feel her magic spreading across her body. A familiar sensation of warmth, a surge of power that crackled from head to foot.

"Your King is a fake." Orenda explained finally, staring at Isha squarely, the somewhat crazed expression marring her delicate features. "He is nothing but a usurping bastard who should have been left to die as a babe in arms."

"Harsh words." Remarked Isha, "where does your scorn come from? What causes you so much hate?"

Orenda turned her focus to one of the flaming torches on the wall. As she moved towards it, towards it's warmth, Isha watched her warily.

"No one believed him, when he said he was the true King. When the news arrived of Maric's death and then of Cailan's..." Orenda spoke. She was calm and her voice steady, she seemed to be staring at the flames as they flickered and licked the air. "He made plans to come to this cold dog country."

"Who?" Asked Isha. "What is his name?!"

"Even he didn't believe at first." Orenda sighed, "scraping by, only learning he was a King when his mother was on her deathbed. He was so eager to come and claim his throne. And then he heard the rest of the news." She turned to Isha, in her hand she held the torch of flame, pointing it as she advanced. "That the people of Ferelden had put a stupid Grey Warden bastard on the throne. Not Maric's recognised child!"

"What are you talking about?" Demanded Isha, rising her voice a little. "Maric had no other children except Alistair and Cailan."

"Fool!" Spat Orenda, "the true King of Ferelden, the true King of Thedas is across the sea, and while I may have failed, others will follow and they will not!" She swung the torch, "your King will die!"

"One person cannot be King of all Thedas." Isha barked, backing away from the flames, "and if anyone comes close to Alistair again I will tear them limb-from-limb!"

"What can you do?" Screamed Orenda, lunging at Isha, "you're nothing but a woman! A frail, useless trophy!"

Twirling her hands, Isha fired a blast of cold at Orenda, extinguishing the flames, and encasing her feet in ice. "I am a Grey Warden." Isha said, rising her hands and drawing the ice up Orenda's body, covering her legs, ascending to her hips and torso. "I am a mage, and I am the Hero of Ferelden. I will not allow some unknown entity to threaten _my_ King or _my _country."

Orenda's skin was turning blue where the ice was covering her, only her head remained free of the substance, and Isha held her hands still for now. A drain on her mana, but she was not about to allow the elf to feel nothing.

"It doesn't matter if you kill me!" Orenda screamed, laughing. Her cries had grabbed Teagan's attention and he stood at the mouth of the open door. "More will come! You and your King won't stand a chance!"

"Let them come in their droves." Isha growled, tightening her hands into fists and drawing the ice case tight around Orenda's body. "We saw off a Blight and we will see off this new threat from across the sea."

"There is power there, the likes of which you have never witnessed." Orenda snarled, "you'll all die."

Isha flexed her hands.

The ice cracked and splintered around Orenda's body until it exploded around her and the elf fell to the ground.

The guards rushed past Isha and scooped up the prisoner. She was alive, barely and almost frozen to the touch. They placed her back in to the cage and locked the door, giving the keys to Teagan.

Isha shook, anger and power surging through her body, fending off the tiredness she had felt before. Teagan stood beside her, watching the elf girl recover from the cold slowly.

"What happened?"

"She threatened me with a wall sconce." Isha explained calmly, "I defended myself."

Teagan nodded very slowly and rubbed his beard, "did you discover anything?"

"Yes." Isha answered, "it's best we discuss it with Alistair and Arl Eamon." She murmured, "but the girl says she was sent by someone across the sea. Another heir who was planning on claiming his birthright after Cailan was killed."

"Another child of Maric's?" Teagan repeated, shocked. "There had been no word of another heir. No knowledge of any other children."

"A madman." Said Isha primly, "clearly. Not worth paying attention to, but for this assassination attempt and any others that may follow. Alistair needs protecting and this threat to both his name and life need to be dealt with, swiftly."

"I agree."

Isha pushed her hands through her hair, "in that case, when Alistair is feeling well, we will discuss this in more detail, you, myself, Alistair and Eamon."

"I will tell Eamon beforehand, let him know what we have discovered." Teagan explained, following Isha to the door.

"Very well." She sighed, "I will explain it to Alistair when he is awake, and I have slept."

Isha left him, walking back through the cold dungeon hallways and up into the warmer more welcoming palace. She was desperate to know is Alistair had woken up yet, and her first instinct was to go to his chamber and check on him.

If she did though Wynne would cluck at her like a hen, scold her and send her to bed as she had done before.

The idea now wasn't such a bad one. Her body and mind were both so tired that she could almost hear her bed beckon to her beyond the doors and walls. She needed sleep, to both rest her body and settle her mind, this new information she had would need to be thought through and explained to Alistair as clearly as possible.

For now it all seemed like the ravings of a mad extremist, Isha hoped a few hours of sleep would at least make things clearer for her.

* * *

The image before him was one of pure bliss and contentment, that he could feel the warmth settle in his chest as he stared at the scene.

Isha, in their bed. Her long black hair was tied in a loose, messy braid pulled over one shoulder. In her arms she cradled a tiny bundle wrapped in white swaddling, feeding at her breast. The covers tented over her post-pregnancy belly.

As she noticed him, standing, observing, she smiled sweetly and beckoned him over with a gentle nod of her head, her green eyes turning to look down adoringly at the tiny miracle she held.

Alistair approached, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he didn't want to disturb his wife and the child in her arms. The child they had been desperate for and against all odds had managed to conceive.

Sliding across the sheets on the bed, he wrapped an arm around Isha's shoulders, gently moving her towards him so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

He had the perfect view of the newborn's head at is suckled eagerly on that first meal, bonding with its mother. Its eyes were closed in concentration and its hands opened and closed as it drank.

Kissing Isha's head, he nuzzled her hair and reached out his hand, slipping one finger within the hand of the baby. It's own tiny digits grasped around his and held fast.

Then it's eyes opened and he could see only blackness. Soulless eyes staring at him. The flesh of the child grey dark, slimy and covered in boils and sores. From its mouth, long sharp teeth began protruding biting into Isha's flesh while she continued to calmly feed the mutating child.

Alistair recoiled.

Blood was suddenly staining the sheets from Isha's belly and he pulled them back.

Something was trying to break out of her stomach, clawing at her insides and chewing at her gut to break free of its fleshy prison.

He stared at Isha, her skin had paled and dried, cracking like dried clay. Before his eyes she seemed to disintegrate into dust and from her corpse darkspawn spewed. Filthy, covered in black gore and wounds from battles past.

The baby that had been stood at the fore front of the horde, poised to attack as Alistair stood surrounded and defenceless.

The hopelessness engulfed him as they charged.

* * *

He woke screaming, flailing his arms, his legs tangled in the covers, trapping him to the bed. Sweat dripped down his face, his blood and whole body felt cold to him and foreign. He was confused, terrified. He had no idea where he was as he forced air into his lungs.

"Alistair!" The woman's voice sounded so far away that he didn't respond. He covered his ears. "Alistair!" She called again, the call of his name dulled by his hands. He shook his head, his teeth gritting together.

"It's not real." He told himself, clenching his eyes together. He didn't want to open them, to see the darkspawn around him. "You're not real!"

Something touched him, something soft, and he flinched. "Alistair..." Hands were moving across his arm, then something cool and damp touched his forehead, some kind of fabric. "Hush now..." the woman spoke, easing his hands from around his ears. "It was a dream..."

His body felt heavy, and the woman with him easily manoeuvred him to lie back on his bed, mopping his forehead and face with the cool cloth.

The room was illuminated with candles and fire light, giving everything an orange glow. The colours shone off her dark hair all pulled to one side over her shoulder.

He knew her, the face, the eyes.

"Isha...?"

"Shh..." she murmured, rinsing the cloth and then applying it to his forehead once more. "You were dreaming."

"A nightmare." Alistair corrected her, his breath shuddering as he tried to laugh and failed. "Something terrible..."

Isha held his hand. "Tell me what you dreamt."

Alistair saw that she sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in a nightgown. The other side of his bed was cold so she had not been asleep with him, in her own chambers then.

Had his screaming woken her?

"A child..." Alistair explained slowly, "_our_ child... darkspawn. Infected by the taint." He paused, and looked at her, "they came out of you, hundreds of them. I couldn't save you."

If she was surprised, or disturbed by the images he had explained, her expression didn't show it, and no emotion passed through her eyes to give away any discomfort. She simply stroked his arm and leaned back a little.

"A fever dream," she said, "tricks of the Fade. Nothing more." A small smile crossed her lips. "You're safe now."

"Fever dream?"

"The toxins from the poison are still leaving your body." She explained softly, "don't worry. The dreams will pass once all the poison has left you."

"It was-"

"It's over." She repeated gently, "and it doesn't do to dwell." With a small sigh, she felt her free hand down his torso and across his neck. "You're covered in sweat... and the sheets are soaked."

"What time is it?" Asked Alistair, finally realising that outside his chamber windows he could see nothing but blackness.

"Late." Isha replied, "wait here." She left him, only to go to the door. After being gone for a few moments she returned and sat beside Alistair once again. "I've sent for someone to draw you a bath, and for the sheets to be changed."

He shook his head, "that isn't necessary."

"It is." Isha said firmly, "if you fall asleep in damp sheets and cold sweat you'll just get sick. And after the last week where we didn't know if you would live, I would like to avoid sickness for as long as possible."

With some effort, Alistair pushed himself into a sitting position untangling his legs from the mess of covers around them. They pooled in his lap as he leaned forward towards the mage. "I frightened you, did I?" He touched her cheek, cradling it in his large hand.

"Yes," Isha replied, exhaling through her nose.

"I'm sorry." His lips touched hers, feather light and gentle. Barely more pressure than a butterfly wing, but it still made Isha's stomach twist pleasurably.

"You're feeling better." She remarked coyly, "considering only five minutes ago you were screaming and flailing."

Retracting his head, Alistair pushed a hand through his hair slowly. "I don't think I'll get those images out of my head so fast." He admitted, "did I wake you? I'm sorry. Wynne told me you've barely slept since everything happened."

"She's right." Isha told him, "I was too worried to sleep. But I managed to get some rest earlier. When I woke up I came here to check on you and fell asleep in the chair there." She indicated to an arm chair about a foot away from Alistair's bed that he hadn't seen before. "I was only dozing, so you didn't wake me."

"You need to sleep." He told her. "What good will you be if you're too exhausted to function?"

Isha's lips tugged into a smile. "I don't know. I think I did rather well acting on no sleep during the Blight."

"No sleep, eh?" Alistair repeated, grinning a little, "was that due to the nightmares after the Joining? Or... other distractions?" He leaned towards her, kissing the column of her neck sweetly.

"That would be telling." Isha told him modestly.

"Ah-hem!"

The deliberate cough came from the open door of Alistair's chamber and it caused both of them to look at each other, laugh a little and peer back towards who was standing there.

Alistair's elf valet, Teris stood, in hand a pile of clean linins.

"I apologise for the intrusion." He said curtly, "but water for His Majesty's bath, and linins to change his bed." The older elf indicated to the fabric in his hands.

"Of course, Teris." Isha said, rising from her place. "No need to apologise. We're keeping you from doing your job. Guards?" Two human heads peeked around the door as elves entered laden with more linen and buckets of water. "The King will require assistance getting from his bed to the bath, at least until he's strong enough.

"Isha, I can walk to the-"

"Just in case he has trouble walking from one to the other." Isha corrected herself and smiled back at him.

It took at least ten buckets and several trips to fill the man-sized stone basin bathtub in Alistair's chamber. Isha lit the wood beneath the stone to heat it and by the time it was full, the water was steaming.

Isha pulled the screen across after Alistair made his own way shakily across the room flanked by his guards to the bathtub and sat on the edge of it to remove his sweat soaked small clothes.

The guards returned to their post at the door to Alistair's chamber, and Teris organised a few of the elf maids who had accompanied him to remove the dirty covers and sheets from Alistair's bed and replace them.

Alistair sank down into the warm water, letting his muscles and nerves greet the warmth and relax to it. The stones inside the tub were all smooth, and consequently only rubbed his skin rather than poked or cut it where he sat.

The steam filled his nose and his head, and he could feel the dirt that covered him practically peeling off in the water. He dunked his head down, soaking his hair and ran his hands over his face as he resurfaced.

Despite his protestations, having a bath had been a good idea, and he was sure that new sheets would make him feel more human as well. He could have gone for something to eat though, his stomach had been growling and grumbling at him whenever he had woken up that day, in fact that had been what had caused him to awaken most times.

Isha sat on the edge of the bath, her back facing him, protecting both his modesty and her own. He found it funny and endearing that despite seeing each other naked dozens of times, in better lit locations than this, she was demure with him.

Maybe it was because it had been so long since they had last been together, last seen each other's bodies without clothes on.

He could see her face as she stared out of the windows, her gaze far away as she bit the flesh of her bottom lip and her brows furrowed together in thought and worry. Something bothered her, and not just a little.

"Isha," Alistair murmured, he touched her hand and she started. "Sorry, sorry!" He rose his hands and sat up, sloshing water over the side of the tub. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's... it's fine." Isha recovered, putting her hands flat down on the stone surface. "I was miles away."

"I know." He replied, "what's wrong?"

For a moment she just looked at him. "Why should anything be wrong?" She shook her head, "maybe I was just thinking."

He arched an eyebrow. "I know you better than that." He stated, leaning back in the water, against the low stone wall. He also knew Isha well enough to know there was no point in trying to force her to speak. If she had something to tell him, she would do it in her own time. "Can you help me?" He asked, changing the subject and holding a rough sponge out to her.

Isha looked at it, at him and then back to the sponge. "You expect me to bathe you?"

"My back." He told her, his voice and expression flat. "I can't reach and I don't want to try to wash myself and open my wound."

"Oh." Isha gave him a sheepish look and took the sponge from him.

"If you get behind me, you could help me clean my hair too." Prompted Alistair cheerfully.

Isha rolled her eyes, "alright. As its special circumstances."

With a little difficulty, she came to sit behind Alistair, perching on the back end of the stone basin bath, her legs either side of his body, her feet and calves dangling in the warm water, she night gown bunched up between her legs. She gently washed his back and shoulders as he leaned forward, using the sponge to remove the dirt and sweat. She used a soap smelling of lemon on his skin, with her hands, rather than the sponge and massaged the lather around his neck and shoulders, working her fingers expertly and deeply into his muscles.

He remembered when she had done this before, at camp during the Blight.

The first time it had been a favour to Wynne. She had been injured in a fight and one of her shoulders had locked up. Isha volunteered to try and unlock it for her and within a few minutes Wynne had full use of her arm and shoulder again.

The older woman had declared that Isha had healing hands, and from then if anyone had aches and pains, they had gone to Isha for fixing as well as Wynne for her healing magic.

Alistair recalled many evenings and nights where he had lay on his front with Isha straddled over his hips, working her fingers and thumbs into his flesh, working out aches and pains, tightness in his shoulders and neck.

She had even started to teach him how to use his hands to do the same on other people, telling him where to touch and when, what pressure to apply to different parts of the body, how to avoid tickling someone if they were so inclined, and how to get others to benefit from his own ministrations.

Of course, he had only even tried the techniques on Isha herself.

Once she had rinsed Alistair's back of any remaining suds, she gave him the sponge to clean himself, and rubbed soap in her hands to a lather, getting ready to wash his hair.

"Wynne told me one of the elf servants tried to kill me." Said Alistair suddenly, rubbing the rough sponge down his arms. "Orenda?"

"Yes." Isha swallowed and ran her hands into his hair. "She's been kept in the dungeon."

"Has she said anything?" inquired Alistair. "About why she tried to kill me? Was I cruel to her?"

"No." Replied Isha, working her fingers in circles, creating more lather across his scalp. "Nothing like that..." she trailed, and they sat quietly for a few minutes. Teris and the other servants had gone already, the bed would be clean and made when the two of them came out from behind the bath screen. "She was sent by someone."

"Oh?" Alistair tilted his head. He rubbed soap out of his ear. "She talked?"

"Only to me." Isha told him, concentrating as she massaged her fingers in his hair. "She didn't speak until I went down there. And once I did... she would only speak to me."

"And she told you she was sent by someone."

"Yes." Answered Isha, "it's nothing to think on now. We'll discuss it all with Eamon and Teagan when you're feeling stronger."

Alistair hardened his face and shoulders, "if someone sent an assassin to kill me, I think I deserve to know why." He stated harshly, "regardless of my strength."

Isha only continued to ran her hands through his hair, working the soap and lather.

"You're right." She said slowly, "but it's all... a muddle." Isha explained. She reached to one side and picked up a silver jug. Dunking it in to the water, she lifted it and began to rinse Alistair's hair, soaking her own gown in the process. "She called you a false King. Said she was sent by Maric's true born and recognised son from across the sea."

"True born... and recognised?" Repeated Alistair, rough pushing his hands through his hair as Isha poured the water over him. "But he had no other sons except Calian and myself."

"So I told her." Sighed Isha, "but she was adamant, she said she was sent by Maric's own child. That he had heard of Maric and Cailan's deaths and had been planning on coming to Ferelden to claim his birth right, but that you got there first."

"He had plenty of time to come and claim it." Growled Alistair. "Why didn't he make himself known before now?!"

"I don't know." Isha answered truthfully, holding the silver jug to her body. "For all we know, it could be the ravings of a mad man."

"But we don't know that for sure." Snapped Alistair. "Someone tries to have me assassinated because they say they are the true King? What's to say they won't send more assassins?!"

"Alistair," Isha lay her hands on his shoulder. "You have every right to be angry and outraged, but please try to remain calm, for yourself if anything else."

Running his hands across his face, Alistair's shoulders slumped and he drew his fingers across his forehead, rubbing at it roughly. Isha moved her hands and fingers across his neck, wishing there was more she could do. She had not wanted to deliver the news now, she would have preferred to wait until she had spoken to Eamon, and until Alistair was healthy again. She was still trying to make sense of everything herself.

"Anything else about this?"

"Only that he lives across the sea, and that he was told of his birth right by his mother, while she was on her death bed." Answered Isha softly.

"It would help if we knew where across the sea he was." Sighed Alistair, "but I suppose Orenda didn't say anything about his location?"

"Nothing." Isha replied, "and Teagan's men have been going through her things, they've found nothing to give a location."

Alistair groaned and leaned his head back in Isha's lap, his eyes were closed, his mouth drawn into a tight line of thought and anger. "Well, I had hoped to rule a few more years before having to worry about someone trying to take the throne or assassination attempts."

Circling her fingers on his temple, Isha released a small blast of healing magic, in an attempt to calm the blonde man before her.

"Who else knows about this?" he inquired languidly.

"No one but Teagan." Isha told him, "I had wanted to tell tell Eamon too."

"We'll tell him in the morning." Said Alistair. "Eamon and Wynne, try and come up with a plan of some kind."

"Sounds wise." Isha remarked.

Around her legs the water had grown cooler and tepid, so she pulled them out and shifted to stand up. "You should get back to bed." She said, grabbing a towel from off the screen where it had been hanging.

Wordlessly, Alistair heaved himself from the water and took the clean towel from Isha's hands, wrapping it around his body to dry himself. He went to the fire to speed up the process as Isha drew back the covers in his bed to make it easier for him to climb in.

"Try to rest." Isha told him, once Alistair was in his bed. "I know it won't be easy, but focusing on the problem won't help right now."

"I know." Alistair kissed her hand, and held it as Isha turned to leave. "Won't you stay?"

When she looked at him, he saw the same surprise and unease he had seen in her eyes when he had first approached her about spending the night together in camp. The anxiety she felt then had been difficult to hide, as much as it was now.

"Alistair..." she sighed, "is that really a good idea?"

"We're going to be married." Alistair remarked. "And I'm hardly in a fit state to ravage you." He laughed, and managed to get a small chuckle from her. "I just think I'll sleep better with you here."

"I'm soaked." Isha indicated to her gown which was now practically see through and clinging to her skin.

"Wear one of my shirts. I won't care."

"Alistair-"

"Isha." He cut her off, "please."

It seemed his simple request was enough to bring down her resistance.

After she had slipped her hand from his, she took a cotton shirt from his wardrobe and changed behind the screen where the bath was. She hung her gown over the edge of the screen, and paced towards the bed, the dark navy cotton shirt just skimming the top of her thigh, and open at the front so it hung off one slender shoulder and exposed a tantalising view of the cleft of her bosom.

"You should wear my clothes more often." Remarked Alistair, grinning.

Isha rose her eyebrows. "Perhaps we should swap." She replied, climbing into the bed on the opposite side and pulling the covers up over her legs and hips. "I think I have some pretty enough dresses for you to be dancing the Remigold in."

"Funny." Alistair quipped.

Isha sidled across the clean sheets towards him. Alistair stretched out an arm around wrap around her shoulders as she lay her head on his chest.

The sensation was a strange one, but familiar to them both. To have a bedfellow again and feel one another's body heat and weight as they lay with each other, getting comfortable. Neither one saying anything, but the two of them relaxing in each other's embrace. Alistair stroking the flesh of Isha's arms with his fingers while she drew shapes with her fingertips across his chest while listening to him breathe.

Despite the revelations of the day, somehow they were both able to sleep.


End file.
